


Drawn

by ravengabrielle



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hermione Granger-centric, M/M, Pining Draco Malfoy, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2020-01-14 14:43:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 136,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18478372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravengabrielle/pseuds/ravengabrielle
Summary: Something magical is working at Hogwarts. The war is ended, lives are rebuilt as best they can be, and Hermione can't seem to lose herself of a strong urge to be with Draco Malfoy. Every time she tries to stay away, her body beckons her back with vengeance. Lots of smut, rated M for that.





	1. Chapter 1

### Unintended Outcomes

A clear head in the morning is one of the best feelings. It sets a day apart with special promise. A magic appointed splitting of warmth as sleep falls off of bright eyes, blood coursed with purpose, destination invalid as the day rings its unknown adventure to the world.  
There were fewer days than she liked that felt that way. Before the war, it was chaos. During, the horrors were all around, death the definite end for some, a feeling that never left.  
Days after the war were much filled with anticipation. She only knew a world so divided. 

 

That was part of the reason why she agreed to return to Hogwarts. She longed for stability. Space to rediscover herself not aligned in darkness. It was folly to believe she’d ever be the same. That was impossible. War changed too much, ruined, too, her innocence to believe in such lines as right and wrong. 

 

For once, Hermione Granger found herself adrift in an uncertain world, even more uncertain of herself that she had been as an awkward adolescence with buck teeth and knobby knees. The very veil of straightforwardness that she always honored as a young girl was lifted to show just how jagged the line of the world was. White and black. It was not so defined. 

 

The world, unlike the sky, was mostly gray. 

 

Her conscious came alive as the sensation of light drifted across her face. This was not one of those beautiful mornings that she yearned for. A morning haze glowed with warmth and shined brightly in the room, so brightly that she whimpered out a soft groan. 

 

She was not rested enough to withstand the vibrant light of a September morning in Scotland. It was blinding, harsh. There were no condolences for a hangover as the country saw it. Late summer beamed with sunshine until the sudden emergence of winter fell in white heaps upon the ground.

 

Hermione awoke slowly. She took stock of herself without opening her eyes, a sudden brightness might encourage a sudden upheaval of her stomach. Indeed, it rolled around in noisy sloshes.

 

Firewhiskey. 

 

Why did she agree to sip from Pansy Parkinson’s goblet? It smelled amazing. That’s why.

 

She shifted gently beneath the rich fluffy comforter and her body awakened with fire. Her body was tender. Especially the apex of her thighs, that delightful spot never ached before. Thighs. They slipped together as she moved. The night before may be a fucked-up blur of firewhiskey, spin the bottle and those spiked potions that were passed around luckily, she realized it fast enough to not take any, but the slick on her thighs was something that was unexpected.

 

Cum. Not all hers, she guessed too.

 

Her pussy dripped with it. A bitter mingled sweet scent came from below. Sharp, almost pleasant, heat burned up through her sides toward her overly sensitive nipples. 

 

It was astounding that sex, one cock, could impact her body, change it to a ball of fire and lust. 

 

God. She ached for more.

 

And just like an answer to her mental desires, an arm snaked around her waist. Long, cool flesh rested against her naked body in familiarity, cupping the curve of her hip on one hand. A chest pushed gently on her back, moaned slightly as he caressed his face into her hair. 

 

He wasn’t awake entirely. His breathing was too slow for it. But the noises, the contented sighs that came from his throat filled her belly up with unbridled hunger for what he gave her before. 

 

Whoever he was. 

 

Hermione ventured to open her eyes and froze. White. All white everywhere. 

 

A small bedroom, not at Hogwarts, stood in unabashed luxury compared to any place she’d been. Coffers of ornate designs painted brilliant white. They flowed through arches toward a sitting room off to the right of the bed. The sitting room, too, consisted of white walls adorned with marble faces mounted in neat rows. An entire wall of French doors opened up to the world outside as gossamer curtains of white billowed in the warm winds of morning. 

 

Two cream chairs sat near a side table carved in rich dark wood. A matching desk and shelf in the same shade were on the opposite end of the room behind a pristine lounge of, you guessed it, white.  
Even the fireplace was made of impeccable white stone, shiny sheen. A giant mantle boasted two ancient paintings in shades of light blue, the color of a morning ocean as it awoke to the day. Both rested in frames of white marble. It was upheld by two white columns on each side topped with delicate molding.

 

A white stone floor, marble Hermione guessed, rested below rugs of royal and pale blue trimmed in gold and cream. Each looked centuries old. Patterns only seen in history books and museums. Intricate designs wove through the fabric in what had to be years of work over a loom. 

 

It was breathtaking. 

 

Hermione Granger felt relaxed in the strange place with a replenished sense of calm. It wasn’t the shrieking shack nor was it Knockturn Alley. She was happy enough with that.

 

"“You’re awake,” a breathy voice murmured. "

 

She startled slightly, but the arm anchored her against his chest. “Oh,” she moaned in sudden pleasure. 

 

His voice was a breath on the wind before his lips found the place he sought out below her locks: the soft nape. She gasped when his teeth nipped at the sensitive flesh. It was more pleasurable than she expected pain to be. Apparently, it pleased him, too. There was a smile against her flesh and a stiff poke in the thigh. “Mmm. I like that one better.”

 

The grip on her hip tightened.

 

She noted the instant response from within her body. Tension pushed her nipples outward against the fluffy comforter and were disappointed with the soft caress. They wanted taut strength. Teeth. No, his teeth. Hard, pulling lust against a moist needy tongue as it pushed her to the absolute limit of sensation. 

 

The motion of his chest as it rose in deep breaths against her back rocked her body slightly, rubbing the heightened bud between her thighs just enough to put that shudder in her breath.  
Just once more. Again. Let her body feel so good in a way that was impossible solo.

 

Wicked need already took control. It brought her fingertips against the length of his forearm, gently dragging against his flesh in the ghost of a touch. The sparse hairs raised as she continued down toward his elbow. Heat radiated off him in waves. It guided her blind reach until she reached her objective. His abdomen. 

 

It was low. Very low. A hard tip bumped against her wrist. 

 

Wow. No wonder she was so satisfied despite the dull ache behind her eyes. He was gifted. 

 

Hermione must have gasped in her sudden realization because he softly chuckled.

 

"“Surprised?”"

 

She swallowed and nodded. There was no strength to her voice. It’d be too filled with lust. If she opened her mouth, she’d beg to be fucked until the headboard smashed to splinters. 

 

Wait. That was a good idea.

 

Though his motions were slow and filled with question, his hand withdrew from the grip on her hip and touched just below her bellybutton. The rush to her thighs flooded through every inch of them, rousing them from their serene coma of satisfaction to demanding, needy fingers grasping for more thus the excitement leaked through her folds onto already cum smeared thighs.

 

A moan was all he needed to delicately dance his fingers down to her center and even moaned as he felt her slick. It popped his cock into her hand, still against his frame, encouraging her to pump his shaft, surprised at how much he reacted to the action because his fingers slipped inside her with little resistance and pressed up against her sweet spot. She arched her back at his teasing.

 

Suddenly his raw voice was in her ear. “Can’t get enough, can you?”

 

The throbbing pulse through his shaft pushed the flesh harder against himself, his excitement as noticeable as hers. 

 

It made her putty to his will. His other hand swung over from his side of the bed and pulled her leg overtop of his locked in place by his ankle. Her vagina was exposed, filled with his frantic fingers as he worked them inside of her with purpose. She felt the fruits of his labor build inside. Muscle after muscle tensed. Her abdomen tightened and raised to meet his arm, not caring that she grinded against forearm with need.

 

She whimpered when he retracted his fingers from her depths. Full. She wanted to be filled, full, pushed to the edge of whatever complete madness that came from a right royal fucking. It had to be magic. Sex couldn’t be a high for everyone, right? 

 

"“Not that I need to ask,” he mumbled through ragged panting. “But I will. Do you want to fuck silly then get some breakfast?”  
Hermione didn’t like the idea. She loved it. "

 

"“Please,” she breathed. “Please. Again." "

 

He didn’t need to be asked twice. His hands arranged her body away from him, legs parted so that his cock could slip inside her with ease. 

 

The dense pressure pushed deep inside her belly, further than she thought possible. Instantly her toes curled as his shaft rubbed against her G-spot. She knew it was a real thing though she’d never felt it before, once it was touched, she knew that’s what it was. A button that shuddered her thighs around him. 

 

He pushed himself deeper and deeper. It bordered on mayhem inside her body as it retched and quaked and burned in waves upon waves of pleasure and pain. The intoxicating allure was too strong for her to resist.

 

She reached out for him. Any bit. Just a reminder that another was there, albeit a total stranger as she believed since she had yet to even see his face, but the moment only called for her surrender. Her nails dug deep into his forearm as he started to increase his rhythm. Their flesh snapped together as his hips thrusted his cock between her enflamed folds, eager and tender for what he could give.  
But just as she’d grown comfortable in that pulsating life inside her, a tightening crossed her belly. She clenched down around him, and he loudly groaned in approval as he seemed to read the signs of her body better than herself.

 

"“That’s right, baby. Just let it go.” "His encouragement heightened her senses. She tried to focus on his instruction since he clearly knew better than she.

 

Let it go. Let it go.

 

Just as an urge to clamp her thighs shut came to her mind, she decided to release the tension she built in waves that she pushed over his cock without abandon. 

 

He kept pumping, not strong as before, but just enough to push the mind-blowing orgasm to the absolute longest possible moment. Her grip released his forearm and instead, held onto his hand, lacing her dainty fingers inside his as she screamed and moaned and gently whimpered her way through until she was barely shuddering at his touch.

 

Warm silence fell over them. He’d stopped, breath just as hard as hers. 

 

She opened her eyes with afterglow, rose colored, as she observed the beauty of the flat once more. It felt surreal. A fantastical place for a coupling that would mean so much to her that he ever knew, because though it wasn’t her first time, it felt like it was. The first time she’d enjoyed with such immense pleasure.

 

Her mysterious partner was more than a wizard. He was a genius.

 

"“Are you alright?” " His voice was softer than fine silk. He sounded concerned.

 

"“Yes,” she breathed. “I’m just…overwhelmed.” "

 

Slurp. A gush dribbled out of her aching pussy as he withdrew his hard cock from inside. 

 

She turned to face him, curious just whom was her knight with a shining rod and froze as her eyes landed upon a head full of silver blonde locks. He hadn’t noticed her yet. Yet. 

 

Oh my. Oh my. Sweet Merlin, Godric Gryffindor, and the bloody Hippogriff. 

 

Hermione counted down the seconds until a major tantrum erupted from the otherwise reformed. 

 

Draco _fricking_ Malfoy. 

 

The new school year brought many surprises to Hogwarts. One was the arrival of some Slytherins fresh from their out of country estates with eager eyes back on the prize of their N.E.W.T.s. Truly, they couldn’t amount much in the wizarding world without their scores. 

 

Amongst the fresh haired, perfectly laundered robes of green and gray was the sullen return of the Slytherin Prince himself. His arrival was quiet, very unlike the usual arrogant demeanor he boasted as he scared first years or taunted fifth years. 

 

No. He was different. Softer. Humbled. 

 

‘Eighth’ year students, as Hermione’s group was called, were welcomed into their old houses with welcoming, awe inspired arms. However, a few days revealed just how unfit the eighth-year students were for their houses. The war soured their devotion to their houses. 

 

Instead it provided an undying respect for one another.

 

As a group, Malfoy included, the students proposed accommodations were made for their displacement, meaning their own space together, apart from their childhood houses. It was a first for Hogwarts. Students didn’t just refuse their houses; they welcomed their placement where they belonged. But, these students were not children. They were grown. Most had seen the worst of war at their own hands, unable to return to their child-like wonder that filled Hogwarts halls. 

 

It was unexpected for the houses to come together as they did. Slytherin especially. But Malfoy led the way of the other eighth years in his house to join their true classmates in a place that was better suited. 

 

She’d watched his transformation in disbelief. Hermione knew he was different. He always had been. Cruel and misguided, yes. But a devout follower was not Draco’s style. He’d been Shang-haied into the cause and done his very best to aid their efforts in the ways safest to him. 

 

But she hadn’t budged from the habit of regarding him with indifference. Not until he’d noted her presence with a dignified nod and the slightest smile on his face as he entered his room one night as she poured through study materials in the common room. 

 

His suite and hers were actually right next to one another in their new housing units in an abandoned tower. Each were given single rooms. It was only fair. There weren’t many of them there, and personal space was greatly revered. The headmistress created rooms meant for single occupancy and left them to their own accord. There were no rules regarding the grounds. If they wished to Apparate to their homes or families, they were welcome. Hogsmeade was at their disposal. 

 

The entire world for them.

 

That’d given the group the idea to host a party for themselves. They’d survived a war. It was reason enough to celebrate. If just to breath a bit of happiness into themselves once more rather than remain sullen figures under names of fallen personalities. A party was a decided action they needed.

 

Each person provided a bottle of something. Draco provided two. He’d even paid for the venue: the largest room for rent in Hogsmeade. It was a great surprise that he was so pleasant. Not pleasant in terms of conversation. He was still a prat. That would never change. 

 

Oh. Merlin. 

 

Hermione cringed at the alcohol fueled memory of a pathetic plan to repay Draco for his actions during the war. That was how, she guessed, she landed in bed next to him with his cum inside her.

 

She’s panicked for too long. The next thing she knew, two gray eyes aligned with hers. They didn’t widen in absolute horror nor did they narrow accusingly. 

 

"“Some party, huh?” was the best she could come up with. "

 

Draco Malfoy rose to his elbows and touched her shoulder gently. “Holy bloody Salazar. It’s actually you. Granger.” He looked lost for a moment. “I thought that was a dream.”

 

"“Uh, yeah. Me too. Which means…” A thought pained her. “I’m guessing the Shrieking Shack incident was also not a dream.” "

 

Through the fuzz of firewhiskey, she knew what pants around his ankles and her on her knees meant.

 

Shit. That meant most – probably all – of her memories were correct. The scary blowjob. Astronomy Tower, specifically the railing and being bent over it. Oh Godric. Please tell her the Quidditch locker rooms was not real. The last thing she wanted to know was that the benches were the perfect height for Malfoy’s face to bury inside her pussy.

 

She glanced through her long lashes over at her companion, lost in thought. No doubt reliving each moment he could summon through his drunken haze. Of course, his tolerance for the bottle was much higher than hers. 

 

He finally exhaled softly. “Wow. A productive night. Don’t get too many of those from the whiskey.”

 

"“Productive? I can’t even – are you – wha – ugh!” "

 

She buried her face in a pillow with the entire intention to never look up again.

 

"“Don’t be that way, Granger. You accomplished something, too,” he replied coolly. "

 

He’d been remarkably placid until that point. It was commendable in all honesty. 

 

"“Of course, I accomplished! It’s, like, impossible not to.” She was bordering on hysterical with embarrassment. A fact that she refused to share with the ego maniac. “What is it, a foot long? I couldn’t do anything but _accomplish_.” "

 

Hermione hated that she was committed to the pillow in her face, because she wished to see this face at the statement. He was completely silent. Was it disgust? That impeccable Malfoy sneer? Could he just be nonchalant, ready to leave bed for an entitled breakfast?

 

"“Which is not my fault,” she added quietly. "

 

There was a soft rustling. A shift through the comforter as he moved up to sitting.

 

He struggled to clear his throat. “That is not what I meant when I said accomplish, but, uh, well, um.”

 

It was a rare occurrence to find Malfoy unable to speak in the typical ungrateful yet collected tone. He hadn’t become riled once since the start of term. He was so laid back.

 

Hermione peered at him from the fluffy (what did they stuff these pillows with? Actual clouds?) folds of the pillow to steal a glance which was met with a gaze back. A gentle pink blush flared on her cheeks. Caught staring at Malfoy. That was mortifying.

 

"“You actually kept grumbling about payback. I assumed you were trying to piss off Weasley.” He fingered the edge of the comforter, gently pulling up. Hermione felt the material cross her nipples. "

 

She gasped, wrapping the fabric around her entirely. Oh gods. She’d forgot she was stark naked. In bed. With Draco Malfoy!

 

"“What’d Weasley do you piss you off anyway?” Malfoy asked. “He cheat on you or something? Always knew that oaf would screw it up.” "

 

Hermione jolted. “Huh? No. Ronald and I have not nor ever dated. No, no.”

 

Malfoy was intrigued with the news. 

 

"“Really?” His eyebrows furrowed lower on his face. “You haven’t dated anyone since Krum then. Don’t tell me that even more brainless dolt fucked you over?” "

 

"“I wasn’t dating him either!”"

 

"“Then who was the payback for?” "

 

Payback. She didn’t remember that. There was much she didn’t remember from the night, beside the parts that included a vast overstepping of her comfort zone politely blurred by half a bottle of whiskey.

 

She groaned, placing a forearm over her eyes. “When did I say it exactly?”

 

"“Right away. You grumbled something about payback when we left Hogsmeade,” he explained. “Then again at the Shrieking Shack.”"

 

Hot damn. The idea clicked. Her heartbeat pounded in her chest. Flush turned a violent red as she knew just what he heard. 

 

The damn plan!

 

"“The plan giveth, the plan taketh away,” she murmured in embarrassment, still eyes shielded. "

 

Malfoy remained silent. It was unclear whether he was disinterested in the truth or just bored with the interaction. It was truly the longest conversation they’d ever had. Civilly or otherwise.  
Hold on. Why wasn’t he furious? Even though he just got laid all over the place, he still slept with a Muggleborn. Not even a dignified half breed, but a full on Muggleborn. That must be the worst stain upon the Malfoy record. The fact that it was Hermione Granger made it infinitely worst.

 

She opposed their side of the war, fought against them actively, and imprisoned their friends and family. Lucius Malfoy sat in Azkaban because of her efforts! The younger Malfoy worshipped his father like a god.

 

The lack of reaction unsettled her nerves.

 

"“I planned this,” she blurted. "

 

"“This?” He repeated with suspicion. His eyes were narrowed, intent to view as much of her as he could. "

 

She nodded, now unashamed. The plan worked. She did pay him back. “Yes. I owed you for all that you did for me in the war. It isn’t right to have unsettled debts.”

 

Malfoy scoffed. “Right. This is all just payback for that? A debt of war that was extended to everyone who benefitted, not just herself. Normal people just say thank you or just testify at the other’s trial to keep them out of eternal damnation in a cell. No. I don’t buy it. That leads us to option two. We have just fallen into a drunken night together because we’ve actually gotten to know each other as people and not enemies.”

 

Her jaw fell out of socket as he hopped out of bed like nothing happened, slid into a pair of silky blue boxers and turned back to her with a hazy grin. “So, breakfast?”

 

In his eternal confidence, or over confidence as she believed, he marched out of the room to find whatever passed as a room service menu. He hadn’t even paused for her answer.

 

Hermione fumed as she slid into some loose fitting sweat pants beaded at the ankle and low on her hips, that she transfigured from her favorite jeans. She waved her wand over the shimmering rose top and it slowly morphed into a cropped jumper smeared in splatters of pink and purple. It left her middle exposed, but she hardly cared. 

 

She hadn’t thought it inappropriate since Muggles wore the fashion trend constantly, yet when Malfoy’s eyes bugged out of his head, she second guessed her physique. 

 

Not that she’d ever tell him.

 

Hermione titled her chin high, pulling on her ratty baseball cap. “You’re an insufferable git, Malfoy. You know that?”

 

"“How? I just ordered you a damned breakfast,” he snapped. “And gave you the most mind-blowing sex you’ve ever had. If not the only.” "

 

Her eyes narrowed. “Quite the compliments to yourself if you think that was the best I ever had.”

 

"“I know it was, despite the constant murmuring that it was,” he sneered. “You really are a loose lipped drunk. Could have pumped you for secrets and gotten anything in return, couldn’t I have? Did I? No. I took you all around to screw in your school girl fantasies, took you to my family’s ancient villa in Rome and let you sip a bottle of the most expensive wine I own.”"

 

It hadn’t hit her that she was throwing pillows at him until one finally hit him and he fell to the couch with a sudden drop. He chuckled softly as he did. Hermione seethed. 

 

He, of all people, could not laugh at her. He had nothing. He was nothing, but a pretty boy with money. He had no substance. No worth beyond what his pretty face could say. 

 

She slammed herself closed within the bedroom, noticing to doors she’d not seen before, and locked it as she scrambled around for her other things like bra, knickers, shoes, a purse perhaps? 

 

Wrapped in the sheets were a pair of split lacy knickers. Her sexy confident pair. The only ones remotely enticing. 

 

And he’d ripped right through them. Why wasn’t she surprised?

 

They were shoved into her pants pockets along with her bra. The cups bulged the pocket in an obvious shape. She tried not to blush. Hogwarts gave them a direct Floo within the eighth years common room. She’d go straight there, avoid everyone and cower in her room until the mortifying reality left.


	2. Lasting Effects

### Lasting Effects

She tossed the black dust into the grate of the Malfoy villa and stepped inside the fireplace. Her head spun around as she squeezed through the channels. A sudden heaviest dropped her stomach to her knees so hard that she fell to the grate, dirtying her hand in dark ash. 

Her body quaked. Stomach swirled harder than a washing machine. She barely managed to raise to her knees when the blinding headache came. 

The hangover finally caught up. 

It was back with vengeance. Probably mad that she’d let herself be so enticed with Malfoy’s cock to realize that a hangover would still come in the morning. 

She fell face down on her mattress. It was double the size of the other dorm beds. Another advantage of being separate from the others. Only, when she actually needed someone, it was more effort to find someone. 

Her patronus otter did the work for her. It flew over to the Gryffindor Tower through the portrait hole up the winding staircase until it reached the girl’s dormitory where her best friend slept. She hoped it would not die out before then. Her energy to cast wasn’t focused solely on the spell.

Soreness resided in her lower abdomen. No doubt from all the scraping and shoving Malfoy did when he pushed himself inside and permanently disrupted the composure of her internal organs. She laid still as she could for as long as possible, even though her thoughts yearned for Malfoy’s flesh pressed against hers. His breath hot against her neck. 

Their romp together was more blurred than any other part of the night. Hermione reached far into her memory for any sliver of confidence that Malfoy had been just as enamored as she had by the violent bliss that made it impossible for any second thoughts. Moaned her name, perhaps? 

There was a moan, she remembered, but it was distinct. At the Shrieking Shack. He’d moaned it just as his cock stiffened in her mouth, fingers tensed in her hair, and pulled her closer with a slight catch in his breath. The chill that blew in from the drafty boards was nothing against the heat that shot at the back of her throat in startling bitterness. Then came the heat of pride that radiated within.  
Pride. Why was she proud? She’d just broken dozens of school rules in one night! Ashamed was a more appropriate feeling for the moment where all her respect for the ancient institution of Hogwarts was drowned out by Firewhiskey.

It wasn’t too long before the young Weasley was roused from her slumber. Ginny had the password. The castle allowed her to enter the new dorm of the older students and head straight to Hermione’s room.

“What’s happened? What’s wrong?” Ginny asked. 

She wore her Gryffindor pajamas, one strap hanged off her shoulder and the waist of her pants was hiked ridiculously high. Hermione hadn’t realized how early it was. Rome was filled with morning light. People, she heard them on the streets, too. But Hogwarts laid quiet. 

Hermione groaned. “My head is what’s wrong.”

“Your head? Why?” Ginny rushed over and cupped her forehead. “Did you fall?”

“Oh, I fell alright. Right to the damned bottom where Malfoy awaits with a large, blissful cock and an appetite the size of a rutting rhino,” she spat.

Ginny gasped at her use of language. Crass was not Hermione Granger’s style.

But the news was more exciting. “Godric Gryffindor and all that is holy. You mounted the white dragon? Tell me everything!” Her friend squealed with delight. She kicked out her feet, ruffling up perfectly made sheets. Then like a sudden change, Ginny crossed her legs and turned serious. “Now. Tell me. Does he have the part of a dragon that is most interesting?”

She’d picked the wrong person to cry her woes to. Ginny was incorrigible that way. She lived for gossip and sex. Two things she rarely had in her own life since Harry was off at Auror training and the war was over. Life was dull back at Hogwarts. At least Hermione was making it a bit up her alley.

“Yes,” Hermione answered through gritted teeth.

“How many times did you get, the happy ending?” Ginny winked.

She shook with anger at the answer. “Too many to count.”

“So it was good?”

“What? No! It was wrong,” Hermione gasped. She pulled her bra and knickers out of her pocket and tossed them in a corner where her dirty laundry awaited in a neatly folded pile.

The state of her room was different than she remembered. It’d been tidied before she left for Hogsmeade. Books in a stack on her desk, quill aligned next in neat rows, the door to the loo closed. The room was none of those things. Complete disarray. 

What the hell happened?

Ginny groaned. “I would kill for something so wrong right now. Anything.”

No. She remembered. The night before…the shower. Oh, god. Licking each other dry.

“Get on with it.” Hermione raised her forearm. “I’m ready to die.”

“Merlin you are in a mood this morning. Phenoniumal sex can’t even cheer you up. This is serious,” her friend said.

“I am not in a mood,” Hermione snapped.

The red head climbed down off the bed, dancing as she went toward the cabinet in the loo. It held all of Hermione’s left-over potions from being on the run, so needless to say, it was stuffed full. Little vials and bottles clinked as fingers ran over their tops. It screeched in her mind. All the rearranging she’d have to do after Ginny moved everything around. Organizing vials wasn’t as easy as it sounded. It involved a color coded schedule and the rule of reach where most popular potions were placed in plain sight, thus easier to find. 

Ginny marched back proudly with a vial of Pepper Up. “Cheers.”

Cheers? She could be shagging Malfoy in a roman villa, and here she was tipping back potions with Ginny. That wasn’t what she wanted. She needed more. More than just a false pick me up. 

No. The real thing. She craved it.

The bottle shattered against the wall that Hermione threw it against. She watched the yellowish potion drip down the wallpaper, curling the edges and smearing the hue in rivers down to the floor.

“What the bloody hell, Hermione?” Ginny gaped at the wall. “Did you just intentionally ruin a potion you made, yourself?”

There was a sudden bristling anger that lurched into her veins. She didn’t know what it was. She’d never felt it before in her life, but it took reign of her limbs as she pushed her best friend out of her room and locked the door behind her.

She listened to the pounding for a few minutes. Ginny called her name over and over to the point it sounded like nails being scraped against stone. Hermione warded the room. She didn’t know what Ginny had done to deserve the treatment, but it was all she saw. 

Bright red. Bleeding red. If she was going to talk about Malfoy like some magnet for her to oogle at, she was better off without the talking lips of a harlot. 

Who just declares their attraction for a wizard that their best friend slept with? Wasn’t there some kind of rule that he was now off limits because of her liaison with him? 

Like Draco Malfoy could be off limits to any witch in the world. He was essentially a spraying gun of cum across the entire school. There wasn’t a girl he wouldn’t try. Ginny included. 

Oh, but if Ginny ever tried it, Hermione would hex that girl into next century.

For Harry. Of course. For their relationship.

With the smell of Malfoy and blissful morning sex, grass in her hair, and wine stained lips still on her like a cheap escort, Hermione hopped in the shower for a bit of head clearing and then when it wasn’t enough to drown out the impure thoughts of Malfoy, she poured over her textbooks again. And again. The entire rest of the weekend passed inside her dormitory without interest in the outside of the door. 

Correction. Slight interest. She hated to admit it, but she listened when people marched near her door as they talked with glee or stressed over assignments with the capacity to block it all out unless she heard the one sound she yearned for. The silky drawl. Cool as ice but hot as daggers when his eyes landed on their prey, for he was in every sense of the word, a predator. Fatally attractive, venomous bite, cold disposition, hot headed, and unbelievable charming. 

She was glad she hadn’t heard him come back from Rome. The common room would have buzzed with intensity if he had. A fair amount of the Hufflepuffs embraced Malfoy in their carefree, supportive ways that were just the opposite of himself yet somehow, they weren’t deterred when he said no. They just walked away and tried again another time when he wasn’t in a mood. 

Monday morning came to the castle with a particular excitement. She was anxious to leave her room and rejoin her classmates. Hogwarts school uniforms were much the same except the eighth years were able to forgo a colored tie in exchange for a black one. Hermione donned her black tie proudly, happy to set aside petty house disagreements and embrace the newly changed perspective on Hogwarts. 

Complete with her black tie, white blouse, gray sweater, pleated skirt and knee-high stockings, she exited her room. It was quiet. Not many were awake yet. Except Luna Lovegood. She lounged in the creamy colored couch, ankles crossed, tennis shoes on the cushions. Hermione stifled her bewilderment, though it threatened to show itself anyway.

Shoes on the furniture? What was this girl thinking?

“Morning, Luna.” She greeted softly, cautious not to wake her fellow students before their time. 

The blonde-haired Ravenclaw wore a violet dress littered with ice cream cones complete with rainbow sprinkles. Her stockings matched in an eccentric display of color. Stripes of every color lined the form of her legs. 

Luna was lost in dreamy reverie, probably within the wilds of imagination alongside never heard before creatures but awakened slightly at Hermione’s emergence. She lifted a soft smile. Shoes bounced down to the floor as she swung herself up off the couch.

“Hermione Granger. I’m so glad you’re here,” the witch proclaimed, still in her soft murmuring way that drove Hermione mad. “I was getting awfully hungry.”

A sudden weight hit her shoulder when her fingers dropped a messenger bag full of books. “I’m sorry? Did we make plans?”

“No.” 

Luna waltzed toward the secret entrance to their dormitory, a glamour in a wall that appeared to be a giant crack presumed to be from the battle. It was merely a portal to their new dormitory. They thought it meant to be a reminder of all they’d endured. Headmistress McGonagall was mindful in that way. 

Through the portal and out into the depths of the castle, Hermione and Luna walked in silence toward the Great Hall. The castle started to awaken as light transformed the eerie dark corners into full corridors and stairwells. Ghosts turned less daunting as their grey essence no longer glowed in the absence of light. 

Sparse amounts of students roamed the halls. It was for the early risers. Hermione and Luna found themselves the only eighth or seventh years awake yet. The thought was horrifying. So many of the older students lived through and fought in the war. They should at least have the decency to remain prompt, alert, not lay about their beds all morning. 

Luna sat across the table from Hermione, steadying her brilliant blue eyes on her face as if in expectation. There was that directness with Luna. She always was so blunt without realization that she might come off as too personal. Once she’d asked a stressed, bordering hysterical hysterical fourth year (how Hermione remembered that stress) if it was her time of the month. 

There was that awful clench in the pit of Hermione’s gut that knew Luna’s powers of deduction were vast under that innocent demeanor. She knew things. She understood things. One look was all it took for confirmation, one measly lust filled glance and the Ravenclaw would have her figured out.

She kept her eyes low as she found her breakfast scattered around the table. The weekend gave her a fixed need for food since she’d not came down to a meal the entire time.

It wasn’t cowardice. No. She just didn’t want to see that knowing smirk he’d have, that Slytherin beauty so filled with…well, something. Not anger. He wasn’t angry anymore. Nor was he violent. A jackass? Duh. People don’t change that much.

The creeping sensation over her skin told her that her fellow witch watched her plate gather its contents. As much as she avoided the gaze in favor of breakfast, Hermione looked anyway.

“How was your weekend, Luna?” Hermione offered a pleasant smile with an even more pleasant tone. Please, follow this track of conversation. “Did you enjoy the party?”

To her surprise, the witch shook her head. “It was less than satisfactory when combined with the awful hangover. My vomit reminded me of Flaggerwomp.”

That was a new one. 

“I’m not familiar with a Flaggerwomp. Why does it remind you of vomit?”

“The color, of course,” Luna answered. “They are not the most beautiful creatures. It is not something looked at without a gag, truthfully, but they are wonderful creatures. Soft and kind. When they are placed on one’s skin, a nasty reaction happens, though. Best to wear gloves.”

More and more students started to filter in through the large doors of the Great Hall. Ravenclaws carried arm loads of books to their table, no doubt to study. A few Gryffindor boys and a Hufflepuff girl loudly descended upon a table end near the eighth years at the back of the room. Their boisterous laughing caught Luna’s attention for a moment. 

She turned around and addressed them directly. “A snog is very off-putting in that manner. I suggest new information before you try again.”

Eyes wide, mid-bite, Hermione sat horrified just the same at the young boys while they muttered lowly amongst themselves. Their blushes were discernable from across the hall, no doubt across the country. She felt the same way.

She busied with her breakfast, intent to fly out as quick as she could without Luna’s notice. 

“They attach and leech toxins that remove a person’s inhibitions,” Luna said suddenly making Hermione flinch.

It took a minute to swallow her mouthful of toast. “What?”

“Flaggerwomps,” Luna repeated. “Best to wear gloves lest your true intentions be shown.”

A large group of eighth years appeared in the Great Hall. They were the usual crowd of non-early risers but not the late sleepers. There was Padma Patil, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnegan, Fay Dunbar, Earnest Macmillion, Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Sue Li, Tracey Davis, Pansy Parkinson, Theo Nott and Malfoy.

Their alliances held strong as they took places amongst the table, not in any particular order or fashion designed to place former house mates together. It just so happened that Pansy sat beside Hermione, greeting her with a soft smile and picking a strawberry from her plate.

Pansy was the most surprising to encounter back at school. They’d never been close. In fact, Hermione strongly disliked Pansy before since she was a Slytherin Prefect, not known for being fair and compassionate. Enough happened for the girl to befriend Hermione without incident. They simply ignored their previous dislike like an elephant in the room until it suffocated and died. 

Luna hardly noticed the addition of their peers. She stared at Hermione, expectant again, in a way that pressed her to speak more on an animal she was convinced wasn’t real.

“How do you know that?” She questioned. “You can’t have very seen one with your own eyes.”

“Seen what?” Pansy interjected. She was a terrible eavesdropper, never caring if she wasn’t invited to the conversation. Her input was added as long as she could hear. 

Hermione glanced over, a subtle roll of the eye. “Flaggerwomps. They apparently remove a person’s inhibitions if they touch skin.”

“Pish posh.” The dark witch flipped her hand in dismissal. “I don’t believe it.”

Over Pansy’s shoulder was a hint of platinum blonde hair. Hermione froze. His scent. That bloody alluring cologne. She smelled it, even over Pansy’s ridiculous perfume and the hot steam of breakfast. It was unmistakable. 

Unable to stop the frantic beating in her heart and the soft soaking in other places, Hermione forced her forced her focus back to her friends and prayed that neither would notice just how attuned she was the Malfoy’s presence.

The Great Hall was in full swing of breakfast. Professors dined and talked lightly amongst themselves. Students, typically younger in age, echoed loudly over the endless ceiling and others chatted enough to raise the general sound of the room to a forceful hum in everyone’s ears, yet Hermione still swore she heard his breath. It hitched when he glanced over at her.

She hadn’t looked. That would be suicide. No, she felt his attention of her flesh which heightened sensitivity in reaction and heard the change in his breath. 

Absolutely not. It was crazy. There was no way that way possible. Her imagination was turning wild and romantic on her. She was attuned to his actions because she had to be aware of him at all times in her younger years when hexes flew through the halls like Quaffles on the Pitch.

“It’s true, Pansy. My father used one on my mother before he proposed,” the blonde witch reasoned. She held a scone in one hand, letting crumbs fall over the edge of the table carelessly. “She was hospitalized for two days afterward but was engaged after that.”

Malfoy scoffed. It was light, barely louder than a whisper but she heard it.

Sweat poured down her back. The sheerness of her blouse was hidden by her sweater, but she felt it all the same. Damp spots where her heat from his touch pooled. The outline of her black bra recognized under a layer of wet, white fabric. 

Those weren’t the only pools either. Cotton panties sat below her folds, wet and dripping from her excitement. The smell of her own sex was intoxicating. 

She spread her thighs, aroused by her own scent, when a fork clattered to the table. It broke through the table’s relaxed conversation as the eighth years peered expectantly at the disruptor. She, too, was interested.

The moment she looked over, a pair of intense gray eyes met hers. 

_He knew._ Somehow. 

There was no way. He’d have to have super sensitive scent over all else that smelled in the Great Hall. She sighed in relief. Imagination romanticizing again.

Pansy smacked Draco’s arm. “What’s wrong with you? I will not be so pleasant if I find syrup in my hair later so pick up that bloody fork and keep it there.”

“Sorry,” he grumbled turning back to his plate. “Thought I smelled something.”

Hermione was so startled that she slammed her thighs together, a loud smack from beneath her skirt that did not stay in place. It echoed throughout the still of the table. 

Eyes upon eyes turned to her in question. Pansy casted a disgusted glance, not liking such annoyances during breakfast that weren’t from her. Neville was marked with clear concern. He asked if she was alright. No matter how hard she squeezed her eyes closed, the hot blush wouldn’t recede back from where it came.

“I…um.” She glanced around. Every single face stared. Breath caught in her throat as she struggled for an answer that wasn’t the truth. Anything but the truth. “I just remembered I have to go to the library.”

The table was confused as she left. Their glances ignored she traced her way to the library the quickest she could without running as fast as she could. 

Hogwarts library was a special place. It held wisdom and knowledge and peace. 

Today was not the day for it. She wanted escape to cool her rampaging hormones before she went berserk on herself and did something that Madam Pince would definitely not approve of. Frankly, her cares were out the window.

She picked the farthest table hidden near the Restricted Section. It was covered in layers of dust. Chances were low that she’d be discovered by anyone even the librarian since cleaning was not apart of her duties. 

The cool metal of the chair helped soothe her slick palms. Smells of leather and old books lowered her heart with each deep exhale. It was peace. Peace she needed, away from Malfoy and his damned blessed body. No, what she needed was a break from the vivid memories that heightened her ache. Flashes of his pale skin. The memories of his shimmering gray eyes as they gazed up at her, tongue thrust inside tingly depths. Merlin, the way he worked himself over her aching sex. He knew just the way her clit loved to be teased. A few delicate dips against the bud before it turned attention to somewhere, anywhere else in a mind-numbing game she craved.

Hermione lunged forward in her seat and gripped the sides. She was not helping herself calm down. All she’d done was get herself even more aroused. The smell of her excitement radiated in the section of the library where she isolated herself, not entirely sure if she should just leave or rub herself to completion so her madness would lift.

The quiet of the early morning library dampened her spirits. She focused on titles of novels nearest, in alphabetical order. First by title. Then by author. Over and over she recited the shelf, not once allowing herself a single millisecond to think of the demon in her knickers.

Then the calm was interrupted by a disruption in the atmosphere; the demon himself alive. A gliding figure in all black with pale creamy skin and a wickedly gifted sense of pleasure.

He seemed to know his destination in the desolate still of the library. His steps found their way to the deserted edge of the room that he’d never even entered before.

“Granger,” his voice drawled, all coolness banished away from his tone. 

The pools started again. Waves of sticky hotness surged down to her folds. It was so delightful itself that she nearly gasped out in raspy need. 

“Malfoy,” she greeted stiffly.

“Never took you for a one-night stand witch,” he commented, a bit of venom back. “Why’d you run?”

A violent flush came to her face. He was surprisingly direct for consorting with a Muggleborn. She focused on her crotch begging it to not dribble all over the library floor. The wrinkles gave her something to rub her nerves on.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He scoffed. “No. Course you don’t. That would look bad for the Gryffindor Princess. What would Weasel say if he knew you cavorted with wizards much more attractive and deserving than him?”

Back to him again. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear Malfoy was jealous of her bond with Ron.

Sure, she once had feelings for Ronald. The final battle was intense, a need for something to love before they were ended all in a blaze. But, after the tension of death wore off of them, both realized they were only capable of friendship. It was awkward to fumble around with each other’s bodies with non-existent romance. 

Auror training was a good time as any to broadcast the fact, so Ron didn’t face backlash of their failure. No one ever blamed her for anything. It was always him, and it wasn’t fair.   
Ron Weasley was an amazing wizard, easy to please and loyal to a fault. He deserved someone great, but not her. They were too close, too built on friendship to even consider it.  
That never stopped the rumors.

“You know I am not with Ronald,” she answered through gritted teeth, angry that he’d bring anyone else into the equation for her own drunken choices which were clearly bullocks. “I am capable of choosing with whom I cavort. I just prefer ones who aren’t selfish pricks.”

She’d sparked a nerve. His body stiffened, no matter how delightful it made his muscles appear, it was meant to be threatening. 

It made her wetter rather than dry. 

“I did everything you wanted despite the fact it was a huge inconvenience to Floo past curfew all the way to Rome because you just had to see it,” he spat. “I’m the selfish bastard who made all that happen just for you. Paid quite heavily for it, too.”

The shock of waking up in bed with Draco Malfoy inside her kept her so bewildered, focused on the wrong nature of the union, she hadn’t understood just how truly accommodating he’d been.

Shit. She was the selfish one.

Her body fell slack in the chair, legs unclenched once more. She rubbed her eyes in defeat. 

This cannot be happening, she thought. She was losing to Malfoy. Malfoy! Of all people!

She hadn’t noticed the shift in him. His eyes turned hard, carnal as they stared down at her exposed flesh of bare thigh. Her spine shuddered as her eyes gazed up at his taut, juicy lips so willing to dance across her clit as she screamed out his name. Wet hot glistening off his chin, dripping with her cum as he buried his tongue deep inside as a cock and pulsated his moist wide muscle higher.

Hermione suddenly snapped awake, her hand pressed against her wetness.

His gray eyes were amused. His tongue clicked, exposed the pink to her as he delicately marched forward, swagger in each step. 

God, he looked good enough to devour. That sharp jaw line jutted out against the melting beauty of a natural, not unlike a Veela whose very nature was to be alluring. 

“All you need do is ask,” Malfoy smirked.

He lowered himself until they were level. Her scent heavy in the air. The deep inhale through his widened nostrils spoke more to his enjoyment of her arousal than words could.

Just to drive her wild, he gently fingered the fallen hem of her skirt. “You know you want to.”

There it was again. He was telling her, as if he was the supreme knowledge on what she needed. 

“Never.” She growled, not unlike him.

“Fine,” he said coolly. “You know where to find me when it becomes too much. Just don’t let your pride stand in the way too long. I might move on by then.”

Just as smoothly as he walked in, he left. She watched him leaving wondering where he’d find himself wandering to in a state so stimulated.

Class! She gasped, gathered her things and raced down the halls to fall into a classroom just in time.

Neville was shocked. “Are you alright, Hermione? Been strange today.”

She swiftly tied her thick curls at the nape of her neck, taking note of the sweat underneath. Everything was so hot. Her skin, her belly, her thighs. When layers upon layers of sweaters were her usual uniform, she shed them down to her white blouse dried from her morning embarrassment at the table.

Notes open, supplies gathered, Hermione turned to Neville.

“Sorry, Neville. Lost track of time.”

The lesson was extracting Snargaluff pods and opening the pods to find their treasures inside. 

Neville was a willing, excited partner. He lived for Herbology, and such sciences. Though Hermione excelled in her classes and was eager to learn, plants were not a favorite. Living creatures were unpredictable. She didn’t do unpredictable. 

Logic. Reasoning. They were constant. Stability. That was something she needed since the war when chaos was the general state of mind. 

Hooking up with Malfoy was not exactly a stable choice for her final year. So many terrible plans.

“Excited for this?” Neville beamed. “I’ve done this many times now. Easier than it looks. The plants just like to put up a fuss.”

“Branches with thorns? Who’d have thought they like to fuss?” Theo Nott snickered. 

He had a few thorns sticking out of his cheek and the lesson hadn’t started yet.

Neville sighed. “If you wouldn’t provoke them.”

Terry Boot looked over in amusement and pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. “This particular plant seems to dislike Theo very much. It attacks him every few moments without him moving. I suspect these plants are preferential like all other beings.”

“Great,” Theo exhaled. “Bloody plants don’t like me. What next? Puppies, kittens, my mum?”

“Look at how defensive it’s gotten,” Terry said in awe.

The behavior captured the undivided attention of her partner. Neville wandered nearer as the barbs of the plant cocked at alert, focused entirely on Theo Nott’s movement and once he breathed deep, launched an arm full of thorns toward his face.

Theo jumped back just in time. No thorns embedded, though some bright red lines appeared down his cheek.

She rolled her eyes and dragged her partner away from the ‘interesting’ circumstances. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”

However, the instant the flesh of Neville’s open hand touched hers, a violent upheaval came to the back of her throat. It burned of bile and pumpkin juice. She gagged furiously. Her partner clambered after her, ensuring she didn’t run into any Snargaluff barbs or leering students on her way outside. 

She fell to the ground, on her knees heaving heavily. 

Theo and Terry hurried steps exited the greenhouse a minute later.

“What’s wrong with her?” Theo exclaimed.

Neville mumbled, “I don’t know!”

“Sudden onset. Most odd, wouldn’t you say?” Terry noted absently.

The wave started to wash away without any sudden upchuck. She was grateful. Seeing herself puke by the Herbology greenhouses was not how she envisioned her last year at school. It made it less magical. 

Her knees wobbled as she tried to stand. Neville grabbed hold helping her to her feet, but she instantly gagged and fell to the ground.

Terry adjusted his glasses with a slight hum. “Neville. Perhaps you should hold her hair.”

The poor boy did as he was told and was met with a low bellowing groan and a gag.

“Interesting.” Terry Boot rubbed his chin. “It seems that every time Neville and Hermione touch flesh, she is overcome with the urge to be sick.”

A dark look crossed the Gryffindor’s face. “Oh, no. Mione. I’m making you sick.”

“No. That’s ridiculous,” she answered.

Her stomach flipped and rolled nonstop. It churned the foul bile acid around as she tried to control the spinning of her head. The fresh air helped. Each deep inhale soothed the horrid urge to spill her stomach contents on the ground. 

The Ravenclaw that he was, Terry Boot was more fascinated with the behavior. He wanted to understand an illness that struck with skin to skin contact.

“Do you not like Neville? Is that why he makes you feel sick?” He asked his patient with seriousness.

“What?” She gasped. “I love Neville. I’m ill. That’s all.”

“Maybe it’s not with just Neville,” Theo added. 

The idea lightened the Ravenclaw’s eyes. “Brilliant. Theo come touch Hermione here and see if she becomes ill.”

Purposely touching the skin of another felt strange. So forced. She was a punctual girl with Type A tendencies. Physical contact wasn’t much of her thing. In fact, she made a point to avoid it when it wasn’t necessary. 

Truthfully the most touch she’d endured happened with Malfoy the night they spent together. Hot and pleasurable touches under cover. Greedy need burned deep. It was absolute bliss to remember the way he pulled at her clothes, unable to be restrained from the urges that took hold of his hands. Even now, she wished for them back on her. Their forceful grip on her hips as he plunged deep into her pussy, opening her wide to his own pleasure. 

The thoughts were ripped from her a moment later when a gentle finger tapped her forehead. 

Too much.

Hermione vomited all over the ground near here, heaving and nearly falling onto it if she hadn’t caught herself just in time.

“And I thought you were bad, Longbottom. I’ve gone and actually made her sick.” Theo gazed down with a frown.

Terry budged his way closer. “Yes. But what’s it mean?”

Hermione groaned in exasperation. She wasn’t some damn experiment. There was class to tend to, notes to copy, assignments to complete. No time for uncovering what ever the hell was the matter with her body right now.

“It means don’t bloody touch me and I’ll be fine,” she said raising to her knees. “Now let’s go. I do have other things I’d like to do with my day.”

The subject was dropped, class resumed, and pods were extracted from the finnicky plants just as was instructed. She’d almost forgotten the incident until it was time for Potions with the entire eighth year. They all filed in early, stood chatting in a large group when Neville revealed Hermione’s new trick.

“Just one touch and she gags horribly. See?” His fingers poked a soft bit of flesh on her neck.

The response was instant. She gripped the desk withholding the heavy lurching at the base of her throat. Water came to her eyes as she fixed them dead ahead, unmoving from a focus point until the wave receded back inside.

She turned back and smacked him, sure to have her hand covered with her sleeve. “Stop it! I almost threw up that time.”

Neville smiled a cheeky grin. “Theo actually got her to vomit.”

“Is it with everyone who touches you, Hermione?”

Hermione hadn’t known who asked. She simply bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

There was no fright from the dark haired Slytherin who approached her with a single finger drawn. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Hermione flinched when the skin touched hers but sighed in relief at the seconds ticked by and there was no response. She didn’t feel sick at all. Just awkward to have Pansy’s finger poked inside her cheek. 

“Nothing?” Pansy gawked. When Hermione shook her head, there was a triumphant grin. “Must be the company that doesn’t know how to touch right.”

“Hey!” Neville and Theo both shouted.

“There is one pattern here,” Terry Boot announced much to Hermione’s displeasure. “Gender lines. Neville and Theo are both male and both touched her. Perhaps it is biologically based. Females do not induce the sudden illness.”

Through the circle emerged the dainty blonde witch with rainbow striped socks. “Perhaps I should try. Make sure the data is correct.”

Luna did not induce a response. Nor did Sue Li. Or Susan Bones. 

Then came the blasted invitation from Terry to have another male, a new one, try his luck. Ernie hung his head as he marched up, flinching as he touched her and retreating back with haste when she started to gag violently, even leaving the room for a moment.

It was devastating news, to Pansy. “Oh no! How is she supposed to date now? We were going to go tour around Europe with some Muggle models this summer.”

Oh goodness. Another memory of the party where Hermione promised exactly that to Pansy without the slightest clue whether the witch would remember. Clearly it was a blood oath, binding her to the plan.

“Malfoy, why don’t you give it a try?” Terry asked lightly. 

A flicker of smug satisfaction crossed his eye.

Hermione tensed at the thought. She remembered how Malfoy felt, and it didn’t make her sick in the least. It was actually a high. A high that resulted in her trembling, begging, perhaps even convincing him to please her. Something her fellow students should not be privy to.

She thought he might touch her just to spite the others. It would be a Malfoy thing to do.

Still he put his tongue in cheek. “I think she might be sick from watching me hold an incomplete assignment.”

It was the first time that the assignment took notice by the eighth years. They’d waited for their professor to instruct the class but apparently the assignment was already placed before the start of class.

“Students Choice Brewing Day?” Neville repeated. “We get to choose what we brew.”

There was a sigh of some relief throughout the students.

“We can read, Longbottom,” Malfoy stated, albeit friendly enough. Enough for him.

“Graded on the classes assessment?” Pansy shrieked. “We have to judge the potions too?”

Over the course of the war, Pansy let her personal attention toward her appearance wane. Black straight hair fell down to her back before she noticed the change in the mirror. Now she’d liked the long hair look much better. She combed her fingers through constantly.

“Nobody brew anything that will damage my hair or I’ll hex you into next term.” She pulled at her ends. “Hermione. You won’t will you?”

“No. I’ve decided on Veritaserum.” The Gryffindor pushed a shy smile. “It is odorless, colorless and inflammable.”

Pansy boasted in triumph. “Excellent. All of you, do as Hermione does and protect my hair! Finnegan. Don’t you think about doing a single thing.”

The Irish student had an unfortunate history with accidental explosions. And fire. He rarely had eyebrow hairs left from all the accidents.

Although Seamus Finnegan was more apt to argue, he along with the rest of the class set about to do their work. Ingredients were measured, ground, cut, or squeezed. Cauldrons bubbled. Some slight mutters of curse words were heard, but the classroom stayed quiet as all focused on their potions. 

Neville gathered supplies for a potion antidote. That was plain enough to see. Luna started to work on a Babbling Beverage, which seemed fitting for an odd reason. Hermione swallowed back a smile as she observed the obscure witch humming along happily as her potion rose dangerously high to the lip of her cauldron. Someone was brewing Dogbreath Potion. Whomever they were, Hermione wasn’t sure, but she knew the stench of that awful potion anywhere. 

Malfoy’s was a complete secret. All his ingredients were on the other side where she couldn’t see. He worked diligently as he looked in on his potion. Some of his longer hairs fell across his forehead, and he didn’t wipe them away, the sure sign of concentration. 

She had a piqued curiosity, but it was stalled by the arrival of their professor. Slughorn adorned his usual dated suit, with a floppy hat and heavy robes of pale green. He was vastly humored by the diligence of his class. After he applauded their hard work, he set about to examine their potions with mild curiosity. 

Potions complete, the group gathered around the first potion on the list. Hermione’s, as she was first in class.

“Miss Granger, my dear, what have you brewed for us today?” Professor Slughorn asked as he peered into the cauldron. 

“Veritaserum, sir.”

There was a look of satisfaction across his face. “And did it brew well?”

Trick question. Veritaserum never brewed well. It was a complex potion with many difficulties, one being that it was turbulent within the cauldron. Easily done wrong. 

“No, sir. It likes to turn if you don’t watch it closely and stir it at the exact moment,” she answered.

“That it does,” the professor agreed as he wagged his finger. “Everybody grab a dropper. A single drop. We are going to try and see if the potion rings true.”

All the students stopped. Jaws hit the dungeon floor.

“Try it?” Theo asked in a sudden panic. “Like we’re going to confess all our secrets right here?”

Professor Slughorn threw his head back in a cheery laugh. His cheeks turned a pleasant shade of rosy as he tried to swallow his joy. A dried prune colored handkerchief wiped against his brow.

“A single drop shall not cause you to spill the beans, Mr. Nott, so don’t worry. It will evoke a feeling of emotional admission. You shall want to confront someone with feelings you’ve either withheld or misrepresented,” he explained with a twinkle in his eye. “You are in complete control of your mouth. It is entirely your choice. It is a strength of guilt that Veritaserum causes in the slightest dose. If brewed correctly, that is.”

Hermione was excluded from her own potion tasting, since her peers were supposed to grade the project. She clamped her lip between her teeth as their droppers filled with a single drop of her potion and fell onto their tongues. 

A few pupils turned dark. Their faces changed from cheer to gloom. 

“Ah. Delightful, Miss Granger. I feel downright terrible,” the professor announced with pride. “Class. How does it feel? Guilt? Sudden need to admit to some feelings?”

Their heads nodded in agreement and the grade was passed accordingly. An O, for Outstanding. A typical Hermione Granger grade.

“Onto the next one.” The elderly man squinted as he perused a list in hand. There were many illegible words written. He had to actually gather his spectacles to read them. “Mister Malfoy.”

Draco turned back to his table; the rest followed. 

His cauldron steamed from his tabletop. A pearly sheen coasted his potion. 

“And just what has been brewed today, Mister Malfoy?” Professor Slughorn asked, cheerful as ever.

Malfoy’s eyes steeled toward the crowd of fellow students, not looking at one in particular until they landed inside Hermione’s stare. There was a flicker of mischief, of enjoyment and she suddenly wondered if he’d brewed Liquid Death. Her heart raced, face flushed, and was suddenly hot once more. The bloody damp, drafty walls of the castle turned to an inferno as she stood in wait with the rest of the class.

“Amortentia,” Malfoy smirked.

Breath caught in her chest. No! No.

Who knew what she’d smell inside the potion with him so near? She’d probably mount him right inside the classroom if it was his cologne she smelled. 

One after one, the students lined up and offered their scents up as part of Malfoy’s grade. They’d almost moved on, sure to forget all about her, until Malfoy again noticed her off toward the back. 

“I think Granger still has to try,” he said with a withheld smile. She knew it was there. It practically screamed at her. He wanted to mortify her in front of the entire class. 

Professor Slughorn was so startled at the omission of his star pupil he brought her directly in front of the cauldron, her face mere millimeters away from the wafting steam.

“Tell us what you smell,” the professor guided. 

“Leather,” she supplied automatically.

His eyes were on her as she answered. The markings of a smirk on his lips out the corner of her eye. A deep knot settled in her gut. He’d done it on purpose. An entire assignment dedicated to her humiliation. 

“What else, Miss? We need three to four.” The professor frowned. “They should be there. Shift closer.”

She swallowed, stole a glance toward Malfoy who was so close. She was painfully aware. His breath was paused. There was wait in his features. He looked down on her intensely, like he wanted to know what she smelled. 

In a love potion.

False love albeit. Truly, obsession. It didn’t stand for actual love.

“Fresh cut grass,” she answered as she inhaled deeply. “Cinnamon whiskey, and sandalwood.”

She’d blurted them out so quickly that she’d been forced to repeat for the professor. 

“Mister Boot, you’re up!”

All the students shuffled themselves around the potion. They failed to see a pair of them trail slowly, ragged breaths out their throats. The witch and blonde wizard stood on the outer rim of observation, noticing everything about one another and nothing else. 

As Terry Boot droned on in the process of his potion, Hermione heard only the halted breath of Draco Malfoy as he came closer. His breath on the back of her neck in a way she remembered. Lost in linen sheets trapped in heated bliss.

But she wouldn’t let him know just how much she wanted to use him again.


	3. Inexplicable

### Inexplicable

Potions was Draco’s favorite class. It’d always been before, but now it was golden. Perfect.  
Hermione admitted what she smelled in the Amortentia potion he expertly brewed and found that she couldn’t seize the blush on her face. It was all too clear that what she smelled reminded her of their time together.  
He knew the witch would not accept defeat in their case; she was too stubborn for that. It was up to him to encourage her toward a repeat.  
Ever since he’d first felt her lips against his cock as she swallowed him at the Shrieking Shack, Draco was hooked. He cared only to relive that feeling again. Juicy pink lips as they slid so carefully over him, taking every inch of him inside no matter how much her eyes watered. He’d not forced. That was not a gentlemanly thing to do. He allowed the control to be in her hands, much to his surprise, she graciously gave him one of the best blowjobs he’d ever had.  
She gave him every part of her body freely, unafraid of what he could do in her compromised state.  
And the brave lion retreated at first light when she’d realized just how much she liked being with him. He felt it. She surrendered to him, and then ran away like a coward.  
What was worst was that he didn’t see her the entire weekend. And he’d tried. It was pathetic when he lingered within the common room with the hope of catching a glimpse of her. But, no. She locked herself in. Even the Weaslette couldn’t enter.  
It destroyed the beloved high of post-coital anything. He felt an uncontrollable urge to tear the wall between the rooms down with his bare hands if it meant she would see him again.  
Just one sigh. He wanted to hear a single sigh and he’d be sated.  
Monday, he got more than that. He’d gotten to hear her voice, see a smile, the roll of her large eyes as she regarded Pansy.  
But then, he came across something he’d recognize on his death bed. Her. Her scent, her cum mixed with his. It surprised him just how powerful she was, the lingering aroma a marker of everything he felt for her. His head filled with dizzying attraction as he tried to reclaim his presented calm.  
A pitched tent in the middle of breakfast was hardly welcome at Hogwarts.  
He’d trembled with excitement as she retreated to the one place she’d seek comfort, the one place where no one tread so early in the morning. The very room where a couple could entangle themselves in a heated mess with no one the wiser. Craving her taste despite a filling breakfast baffled him as he marched closer, feeling his body move in her direction led by her scent, every step a relief.  
Her bloody scent. It plagued his thoughts in his first period class. Every attempt at notes left only an empty parchment and an enraging need to take her again, better, longer, never let her leave.  
Hermione Granger was not a witch to be captured by lust. She’d never lingered on one too long, apart from Weasley. The way she disregarded the option clearly gave significant meaning to her change. Whether she liked it (she most definitely did, no matter how she denied herself) or not, there was no saying what the witch would do.  
Draco’s work was cut out for him. Starting with other wizards.  
Neville’s news in potions was an interesting development that he wasn’t ashamed to be pleased by. She was overcome with disgust when another touched her. Flesh on flesh. One poke, and she was cursed with a fit of dry heaves. As off-putting the sight was, Draco settled. No other wizard could try his luck with her. Not that he’d let another try.  
There was no sense to it. They’d known each other for years. Hated each other’s existence. There was no denying the draw he felt toward her since the first brush of her skin, that deep down ache inside his balls. He knew when she entered a room. He knew whenever she moved. The very change in her face caught his attention.  
Everything.  
She ignored him as the class gathered around Terry Boot’s potion. Her eyes strictly focused on the Ravenclaw’s hands as he spoke, moving large fists in the air.  
A growl erupted out his throat as he neared her backside, a beautiful work of art, careful to keep it low enough for the both of them.  
Just like he wished, she sighed when his lips brushed against the nape of her neck. Goosebumps puckered the flesh down the back of her arms. He watched her shift slightly, just enough for him to recognize the smell of her like smothering smoke.  
How it made him need her.  
It pushed him farther in the center of a crowded room with prying eyes. He only saw her, felt her, wanted to taste every inch.  
“Part your legs,” he instructed quietly.  
Her mouth dropped open. Whatever fake resistance she’d put up, he wasn’t interested. He knew she wanted it, too. He felt her excitement just as clearly as his.  
Draco grabbed hold of her hips tight and pulled them against him. Her chest tightened as his hands reached up under her skirt, knowing the path that led to her sweet wet that he thoroughly used not two nights ago, yet felt so untouched. He no longer sensed his place inside her. It was too long without him.  
That was going to change.  
She leaned against him as his fingers rubbed her swollen clit, tensing as he pulled at it gently, gasping when he quickened, teasing the very area that begged for him. His place. Where only he tread. The very pussy he’d keep for his fill, owning it every chance he got so that she never forgot just who he was.  
Her right just the same. Her touch was a high. It rolled his eyes back with ease.  
“Malfoy,” she choked through her need to moan. She bit her lip tighter as his fingers slipped inside, pumping his stiff fingers just as she liked.  
Her muscles clenched around his finger, pulling deeper, keeping him inside. He smirked. She liked it. It was clear. She couldn’t deny it now. Her body wanted him to please her. Needed it.  
“You like this, don’t you?” He muttered before taking a bite at her ear. “Tell me you like this.”  
“Stop.” Her voice was husky, on the verge of total release.  
She’d perched on her tippy toes, gripped onto the back of his thighs for support, eyes opened wild with desire.  
Why did she want to stop?  
“Stop,” she repeated. “Later.”  
“Later?” He growled.  
No. Now.  
The crowd started to shift their weight, ready to move to the next table. She was aware of it now. Her thighs pushed together, pulling him away from her quaking center.  
“They’ll see,” she hissed. “Later.”  
Draco couldn’t care less what they’d see. He’d throw her over the table in a heartbeat if he thought she’d like it. She would but regret it later. That made him accept her instruction. His hand came away from her skirt below. They glistened with her smell, her delectable sweet nectar.  
It was too good to resist. He licked his fingers delicately, savoring every ounce of her cum like a rarity. She watched through hooded eyes for a moment. Lips swelled as she watched his tongue clean the length of his pale fingers.  
“Later,” Draco growled. “Promise it.”  
Hermione was lost in the sight. Her eyes didn’t raise to his. She just nodded until his tongue retracted. They stayed locked in eye contact for a long while as the rest of the students moved around, none cared too much to behold the standoff.  
Draco thought he saw indecision within her brown eyes. Something at war. Whether it was because of him or the things they did together, he wasn’t sure. It hardly mattered. Now that he’d tasted her, had her, and knew how much she wanted him. There was nothing to keep him away.  
Not even the blood beneath her peachy skin would deter him. Something he needed was there. A deep craving felt at his core. It pulled him toward her in inescapable ways.  
After she left him in his villa, Draco was suddenly overwhelmed with sickness. A taut pull in his belly. His magic moved restlessly like a snake slithering through him, searching. All weekend he spent locked in utter obsession and constant desire. It was agony.  
If he saw her just once, he knew he’d be okay. Hogwarts was a safe place since the war ended. There was no danger within the walls. Yet, his magic kept him awake with worry of her wellbeing.  
It was unlike anything he knew. Witches were aplenty during his time at school. They came and left with little significance. He was satisfied. That was all that mattered. Out of nowhere came the night with Hermione, the strong awakening of need for her surmounted his own pride. He didn’t care if others knew. The new feelings made him want that. Other wizards would know what was his, what she craved was him and not a single other. Her disgust of their touch proved it, resolutely.  
She was his.  
An entire year without Frick and Frack to impede her progress on assignments and studying left Hermione with too much inexplicable free time. It was curious. There was so much time!  
The Hogwarts grounds were maintained, unblemished by the signs of the battle. Green manicured lawns of the sloped valley surrounded by the shiny white tops of mountains even in the brilliant warmth of September. They formed a little pocket of perfection tucked away in the Highlands.  
South was the blue-black glimmer of water.  
A darkness rested on one ledge of the grounds, the dark line. The Black Forest was a grim place. A dense fog laid permanently fixed between the twisted wood. It lurked out only toward the long reach of the shadows, stopped once golden rays of the Scottish sun warmed the air.  
Hermione shuddered as she noticed she’d wandered too close to the forest’s edge.  
It always gave her chills. The forest held a coldness. The air never saw the light of day, forever trapped in black night. Not to mention the evil. She’d been scarred by the happenings under the trees more than once. A safe observation was that a visit to the forest would unveil something unexpected, each time different than the last in ways unexplained.  
Voldemort was gone.  
There was no logical way it was still dangerous. It was a collection of trees after all. Some plant life. Animals, too.  
The idea that a forest could contain a sentient presence was ludicrous!  
She started to march up toward the dark wood, unafraid of what might await in the fog, when the steady crunch of feet behind that was more than identifiable to just whom couldn’t wait to speak.  
“Hermione Granger! You have a death wish?” The voice shouted. “Or are you just that pissed at me?”  
“I was not pissed at you,” Hermione replied.  
The young Gryffindor flared red. “You most certainly were. Over Draco Malfoy!”  
“Only because you pined after him in front of me. I’m the one shagging him. Not you.”  
Luckily no students ventured close to the entrance of the Black Forest, otherwise an interesting conversation would be overhead with a juicy piece of gossip that would fetch a fair amount of bet money. A young Slytherin could profit greatly.  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” The redhead stepped closer, both arms outstretched for her friend’s shoulders. An anchor to a source of information that she had to know more. The methodical witch whom she’d known for years upon years that never dared adventure on her own. Now she jumped ship onto…Malfoy? “Shagging, as in actively?”  
“Only a bit.”  
Hermione felt incredibly proud by the impressed tone on her friend’s lips. It was a comfort. She’d never been one to walk on the line of danger in life. That was for Harry and Ron to do. It was their life’s prerogative.  
Life was a safer prospect with reason and facts. That was the allure of such knowledge that she actively craved. It was easier to cope in an upside-down world with a battle shield on her arm filled with all she’d learned over during the course of her education.  
It was what little protection she had in a world she was alone in.  
“Brilliant,” Ginny exclaimed. “My little girl’s grown up.”  
“It’s not like he was my virginity, Gin.”  
“Right. Because Krum could satisfy you with his gentle prodding and barely there depth.” Ginny snorted. “Come on. This is the first best shagging you’ve had, and it’s made you angry.”  
Hermione groaned. Did the witch listen to anything she said?  
She struggled to surmount the hill back to the castle. The last conversation she wanted to have was over her sex life with a friend who she couldn’t trust not to try her luck if she knew the wizard was talented in said area.  
“I’m sure Harry will be interested to know this then, won’t he?” Hermione snipped when it was clear that Ginny was not leaving her alone to mellow. “His girlfriend wanting to hop on his arch nemesis.”  
Golden rays of sunshine lost their appeal. Hermione was more interested in being left alone.  
Well, not entirely alone. The idea of running to Malfoy gave her a bitter taste in her mouth yet a traitorous joy in her belly. Waiting wasn’t a choice either. She felt alive when his hands coursed over her sensations in every possible way, unable to escape him.  
The appeal excited her more by the minute. Minutes so horribly wasted in the company of one that could not provide a release, even mild.  
The answer laid with a pale, blonde wizard.  
Hermione’s anger flared at her sick need. There was no antidote, she knew, but she’d still fight the path the whole way to blissful ignorance.  
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re jealous?” Ginny clutched her chest in surprise. “Oh Merlin. You’ve got it worse than I thought. The foul git has gotten to you.”  
The sudden surge of protection over her wizard turned on her friend. She turned on toe, and confronted her friend, finger pointed in her face.  
“He’s not foul!” Magic tingled her fingers. It begged her to react harshly. Bay for blood. Revenge a slight against him which was truly felt against her. “Words can’t even describe what I feel with him, but not one of them nears foul. Quite the opposite in fact. I’ve never felt better about myself. For the first time since before the war, years before even, and he’s not had a damn question about any of it. No war stories. No talk of the horrors I’ve witnessed and participated in. He treats me like a woman. A witch.”  
The response was a rasping gasp. Ginny’s jaw laid lax at her feet.  
Hermione’s need didn’t dissipate. The rage burned through her blood. An inferno of vengeance.  
“I’ve overcome my hatred of those who hated me, and it’s given me the best feelings I’ve ever had,” she explained, harshness a terrible sound out of the usually sedated tone. “I am stronger, more confident and, wanted. Me, Hermione bloody boring Granger. Wanted by another person more than a single person has wanted me. Wanted by the sex god of Hogwarts, no less. And, for once, I want him too.”  
“So, what do you want me to do? Ignore you?”  
Hermione crossed her arms. “Just stay away from him. Stay away from Malfoy.”  
“I’ve not gone anywhere near the prat,” Ginny cried, not a care who heard. “You’re being ridiculous if you think I want anything to do with him, either. He’s yours. I get it. You don’t have to be so bleeding awful about it. No one is going to fight you for him. Not even Pansy.”  
Ugh. Pansy, the past flame, Parkinson. She’d not thought of the witch before as being a threat. The two ended before the war happened, clearly on behalf of Malfoy’s nonexistent interest rather than hers, and neither looked too keen to begin again. Pansy drooled over a Dumstrang, close friend of Viktor Krum’s. She spoke of double dates often.  
But. What if there was something there? Hermione ground her teeth together. Him and Pansy Parkinson? That was a sight she’d rather die than see. Malfoy wasn’t suited for the endless rambles of Pansy, the same as Hermione was not remotely interested in them other than the sake of a friendship. Harry and Ron spoke of Quidditch extensively. It came with friendship, she guessed.  
“Pansy doesn’t like Malfoy?”  
Ginny scoffed, and closed the distance between them. She knew her friend too well to resist the gesture. The Weasley was not above using a hex to straighten out an attitude of anyone.  
“She likes him alright, more than I do, but she isn’t interested in what a night with him is like.” The red head observed her closely as she revealed the next bit of news. “According to Pansy, she’s always got the latest, he’s selfish in the sack. Only gets his.”  
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Who? Who’d she hear such rubbish from? Malfoy is attentive and generous. It is slander to declare otherwise. Jealous wench.”  
“He is a good lover then?” Ginny asked.  
“I’m hardly going to go over every detail with you, Gin.”  
“Oh, go on. Tell me something. Can’t keep it all to yourself, can you? Share the wealth.”  
A blush spread through the tender flesh of Hermione’s cheeks. “I will not. It’s hardly appropriate.”  
“What is not appropriate?” A dazed voice suddenly interjected.  
The two glanced up at the emergence of another, one they hadn’t noticed appear, but with footsteps barely registered on the grass, it was hardly shocking. She startled many with her lightness of foot.  
Hermione seized the pause for her own purposes. “Ginny’s question. Now if you don’t mind, I must go finish an assignment.”  
“But -.” Ginny started.  
“Come, Ginny Weasley. I must show you the tiniest creature I found when I was sleepwalking. It is the size of my pinkie nail, perhaps smaller.” The blonde tugged her friend along, not caring to notice the frustration on the Gryffindor’s face. “I should like to show Mrs. Sprout. She sounded unfamiliar when we spoke.”  
Hogwarts was calm as she marched through with renewed vigor. Dark stone floors clicked underfoot, sharp echoes through the empty corridor. Albeit empty was not the best word. The entire length was lined in floor length tapestries of notable witches and wizards of the centuries. Candles roared with shooting flame between each portrait and tapestry as she walked.  
She lost herself in the many faces she learned about. Most were as common as her own friends faces.  
Still, there was one that wasn’t widely taught or educated about in Hogwarts. The portrait was aglow with red flame as Hermione regarded the tapestry with curiosity. Most others in the corridor were known to Hogwarts students, even if their works were not relevant or popular within the educational world. It was only fair. Their likeness hung in a school.  
The one portrait not taught was full of energy. The very threads of the tapestry moved as magic coursed through. She saw the currents as they wove in and out in color and shadow.  
The portrait of the witch was frozen still. A delighted smirk upon her purple painted lips. Tangled in a mess of her fingers was a wand of ash wood, relatively short compared to Hermione’s own wand. It was lovingly held close to the witch’s heart in clear adoration.  
It was odd. Every magical being loved their wand. It was the conduit for their magic, the flame to their spark. When asked, every witch or wizard would worship their wand in the same manner but since it was a sentiment shared by all, it was hardly paraded as fact. The witch was very clearly making a larger statement with the pose. But what?  
Bavmorda Blatt was a fiery young witch, as the portrait and gossip went. It was very clear in the tapestry that she was a witch with a wicked side. The nature of her dark eyes held some wickedness. Just in the corners near the edges of smirk. How it was captured so well in a drawing, Hermione could only guess there was much more inside the witch than fixed in her essence.  
Hermione reached out, fascinated by the unknown woman, and caressed the fabric.  
A staggering jolt hit her belly. She knew the familiar spark of magic, but not in strength so brilliant and blinding. Magic scoured through her insides, burning and yapping until it finally reached the place that Hermione struggled to keep buried.  
She gasped out, fell away from the tapestry to the floor, as her body flooded with heat. The heat wrapped in a tight circle, pulled tighter still, until she was nothing but in need of one thing that satisfied the itch. The bloody appealing, double-edged itch.  
Malfoy.  
Her body was more awakened than it ever had. She prodded her soft mounds as waves of pleasure rocked through, straight toward her clit that burned with fury. Even if she ran, she couldn’t find him in time.  
There was no telling who she’d run into if time ran short and she needed it right then.  
Hermione ducked behind a column hidden by a misplaced tapestry, yanked up the edge of her skirt and lowered her fingers into the source of all her fire. Fire that masqueraded as wet. Juices squished against her fingers as they danced around her pussy, filled with literal arousal like a pool of cream. She remembered how eager he was to lap up the cream from her folds like a needy kitten.  
Her fingers were nowhere near as matched for the task as his were. She tried to maneuver them as he’d done, but all she felt was disappointment. It wasn’t it. It didn’t hit that spot. There was no eye-rolling, leg shaking, want-to-scream-until-the-windows-burst delight.  
If he’d been there, watching her bury her fingers inside herself as she moaned out her need for him, perhaps it would’ve satisfied whatever hole he filled. Whatever dark demented place she had now. The origin was impossible to know. All she did know, or realize, was that Draco Malfoy was the only one she wanted to do it to her.  
Though she whimpered the entire time, she pulled her skirt down, adjusted herself the best she could and marched toward the quad, where Draco Malfoy always sat in between classes. He no longer lingered in hallways in the hopes of starting a duel. He filled the quad with his friends or homework and soaked up the streaks of Scottish sunlight under rippling beams of beauty only stalled compared to the light of his…  
Oh Godric. She just about descended down the maddening spiral of his charms and looks compared to the sharp edge beneath.  
Why! Why! Why, of all wizards that she could yearn for, was it Draco Malfoy, the long fledged enemy of her and her friends? Reformed or not. He was meant to be her archnemesis for eons. Not until the war ended, and he changed sides and grew into his body and showed just how much he could please her.  
Hermione failed to stifle her delightful shudder as she remembered just how much he pleased. She’d lost herself in the thought, moaned absently, and noticed the staring eyes in the corridor that was suddenly packed with students. Their eyes watched her carefully as she shied away from their gaze and dashed toward the only sense of relief there was for her sanity.  
Just as she figured, Malfoy was in the quad with Pansy, Susan Bones, Ernie and Theo Nott. She cursed the luck that she hadn’t found him alone. Now she’d have to pretend she wasn’t a horny monster if she wanted to keep her friends unaware of her perverted need for their friend’s limp member.  
Limp, she hoped not. Once he saw her anyway.  
If he wasn’t limp when she found him, she would curse him so he would always be a useless flaccid bit of flesh. No matter how magnificent it was.  
The grass was nice and crisp. It crackled as she stepped out into the sunny bit of grounds.  
They busied amongst each other, discussing a shared lesson, one that Pansy was not very interested in, ignoring the emerging presence of another. Part of Hermione felt sorry that she was interrupting their education for her nonsense.  
Malfoy noticed her approach first. He snapped his attention directly to her eyes, where they locked intently.  
A gentle cool wind whipped away her scent so that he couldn’t venture to guess why she’d found them. Hermione grinned internally. She could play a game, if she wanted. He’d have no idea what was going on.  
The strong throbbing of her clit against her panties reminded her just how urgent the need was. Games were for later.  
“Hermione!” Pansy smiled suddenly. The book in her lap snapped closed and she embraced the Gryffindor witch in a bit of familiarity that was unlike the pair of them. Hermione stiffened in the witch’s arms, until Pansy leaned closer and whispered, “Help me. I can’t take this much longer. Get me out of this.”  
The embrace ended. Both girls forced smiles toward the group.  
Ernie and Susan greeted Hermione warmly before they turned back to their textbooks. The other’s attention wasn’t so nearly easy to disrupt. The piercing gray gaze examined her carefully, daring to even glance down at the edge of her skirt in broad daylight.  
The thrill tingled Hermione’s thighs. She rubbed them together gently, relishing the spread across her abdomen.  
“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Malfoy asked, the sharp tone so forced she nearly laughed at his attempt to seem displeased to see her.  
Hermione opened her mouth to quip something he’d find amusing, or perhaps alluring, but Pansy answered quicker.  
“She came to see me, of course. Hermione is a darling friend like that.” Pansy touched the shoulder of Hermione’s cloak. “See, after the party we’ve just become so close. Did you hear our summer plans?”  
The question was clearly directed toward Malfoy, who wrinkled his nose slightly.  
“Who hasn’t?” He snipped.  
“You’re welcome to join us, isn’t he, Hermione? You’ll love it. We’re going to Bulgaria, then France, perhaps a bit of Italy to see what has Blaise too good to come back to Hogwarts,” Pansy said. “We could always use the company. Our models won’t be good for too much conversation. We’ll really only have them around for one reason, and they certainly don’t have to talk for that.”  
Hermione’s brows shot upward. She hadn’t heard that plan of Parkinson’s.  
Of course an entire vacation with Malfoy didn’t sound so horrible. Imagine all the places they could shag…  
“Just what I want for a vacation a string of mindless models as you two shag your way through Europe,” he sneered. “I’ll pass.”  
“We’ll find plenty of fun for you,” Hermione supplied.  
Bullocks. She was giving in to her mind’s desire to toy with him whereas her body demanded she taste his lips. Neither was relenting. So there she stood, a body of confliction in front of fellow classmates in the light of day as her thighs smeared in her own juices of desire for him.  
Malfoy was suddenly changed. He slacked in his disgusted scowl. Instead, his eyes turned playful as he eyed her.  
“Yes, yes. You’ll not have a problem finding your own source of entertainment, but more importantly, you’ll be with friends. You’ll see Blaise. And you’ll get adventure. Isn’t that better than mere distraction?” Pansy sat back down in her place, shoving Malfoy’s shoulder playfully.  
He deftly avoided her touch. It eased the bit of jealousy Hermione held over the past between the pair.  
Besides, what did she care if Malfoy shagged another? She couldn’t shame him for being so attractive, right?  
“Your idea of adventure is stepping into new robe shops, not actual adventure.”  
Pansy huffed. “You don’t have to come shopping.”  
Hermione spread out on the grass, her thighs parted slightly. Just enough for the breeze to stir up the delighted scent of her. She noticed it, so she was sure he’d smell it. There wouldn’t be any mistakes to her intentions then.  
Time was ticking. Her body screamed out for his fingers. They dangled off the edge of his textbook, flexing when the pages caressed his palm.  
“I’m sure we’ll find something to do while she’s gone,” Hermione said innocently, biting back her smirk.  
There was a gentle bob in his throat.  
“We’ll have to talk about this a bit more,” he finally answered after he loosened his tie. “I’m not sure I’ll be entertained enough.”  
This frustrated the fellow Slytherin. She was irate at the implication that she’d be a boring hostess and set about to chart a course of activities that would border on legendary.  
Hermione kept her focus on Malfoy, who she felt challenged her to impress him. Like she had nothing to do in the world but play with his every whim.  
She let the conversation fall into sheer quiet as the quad hummed around them.  
It was enough to illicit a response from the other witch.  
“Draco Malfoy. If you have other pressing matters this summer, you are welcome to decline,” Pansy snorted. “Hermione shall not have a struggle to find better suited companion than your griping anyway.”  
That was when the Slytherin witch unknowingly upped the dangerous nature of the conversation when she turned to Hermione and said, “Perhaps you should write that hunky Bulgarian, Krum. I’d gladly spend a summer holiday staring at him, even if you are the one entertaining him.”  
Malfoy became instantly distressed.  
“Krum! That’s who you’d replace me with?”  
His fists turned white from clenching so hard.  
Pansy, done toying with strands of grass, flicked a section of hair over her shoulder. “Won’t hear him complaining on holiday, will we?”  
“Thought you were wanting a friend along,” Malfoy said snidely, eyeing Hermione closely. “Not a puppet.”  
“A puppet? He happens to be a dear friend,” Pansy replied innocently.  
Malfoy raised a brow. “Since when have you even met the wizard? Much less, become friends.”  
The burning was approaching unbearable. Tingles tugged at her sensitive flesh. Flesh she’d scoured not ten minutes ago without avail, but now as she beheld the stretched, toned frame of Malfoy in front of her like a display of all her desire contained inside a vault of indescribable rage and cunning, and her eyes still only saw the way his eyes widened in surprise when he realized it was her in his bed.  
Malfoy spat back and forth with Pansy. His rage with visible. The trademark coolness of the Malfoy was lost to the burning of his grey eyes. They grew sharper each lingering moment on Pansy’s defensive undignified expression. Hermione watched his fingers flex tightly, jaw lock in place.  
Breath caught in her throat. The heat was fire, burning and burning her. The magic fire was spreading. It tugged at her toes, curling them in tight cramping, pleasurable waves. Her hips rocked against the hanging hem of her skirt. It brushed gently against her aching clit just enough to anchor her to reality. However, it didn’t help when Malfoy glanced her way with absolute murder written across his face.  
Pansy dealt the final blow when she implied that Krum was bewitched with Hermione. All of Malfoy’s books were shoved into his book bag and he hastily left the group in a mood they hadn’t seen since years before.  
Soft whimpers raised from Hermione’s throat as he left. Sauntered across the lawn with his thin hips swaying like a pendulum, beckoning her after him.  
She raised to her knees. Bits of grass clung to her skirt flecks across the dark fabric. Any other day she would have brushed it away. But she needed Malfoy more than she needed to present herself.  
“Hermione.” Pansy sounded annoyed. “Where are you going?”  
Right. She had to deal with other people.  
Hermione forced an innocent smile. “Library. I’ve got some research to do.”  
“Let me come with you.”  
It was a statement. A demand, not an offer.  
Pansy bid goodbye to the two Hufflepuffs drenched in their studying, laced her arm inside Hermione’s and dragged her off toward the castle. No matter how much she tried to resist, insisting that Pansy would not be interested, Hermione was unable to lose the Slytherin witch.  
At least not until they were out of sight of the quad.  
“Thanks, witch. They weren’t going to stop drilling me with incantations.” Pansy ran her fingers through the length of her black locks. “Don’t get me wrong. They’re sweet and all. Just want me to pass, but don’t they do anything else? MacMillion is just as bad as you, and not nearly as fun.”  
Damn. Where did Malfoy go? Hermione scoured faces in the crowd as they walked through the corridors.  
Young Gryffindors laughed loudly as the pair past. Pansy shot them a silencing look then turned back to her companion latched in her grasp.  
“What happened to you Saturday?”  
Her attention snapped back to the Slytherin witch, a sweat pooled at the back of her neck. “I don’t know what you mean.”  
“You left the party,” Pansy stated evenly. “Where did you run off to? I looked everywhere.”  
Everywhere meant she scanned the party and cursed her into oblivion for not being easily found and returned to the party in Parkinson language. There was no way the girl was ripped from a drunken party for the sake of a Gryffindor. Even Hermione wasn’t that thick.  
Crowds of students waned the closer the two came to the library. A warm sunny day was not spent in doors if the students could help it, especially in the library. No sunlight filtered in through the large windows of the library on any day. It was dim, hazy with dust and quiet.  
“I went back to my suite, of course.” Hermione begged her cheeks to remain pale. One blush and Pansy would not cease to discover what happened. It was her birthright after all. “Some things to take care of.”  
“You were wasted. There was no way you could hold a quill, much less complete assignments.” The dark eyes suddenly narrowed. She was on a scent. “What were you really doing?”  
“Nothing.”  
“Does nothing have a name?”  
Hermione gasped. “Pansy! Are you implying I left with someone? That’s horrid. I’ll have you know that it is against school rules.”  
“We were in Hogsmeade, not Hogwarts.”  
“The rules still apply since we attend Hogwarts.”  
It took all her energy not to scream out his name. What exactly she was doing. Why she needed to find him. She pushed her tongue into the side of her cheek and refused it to mutter his name in company that would misinterpret the action as something emotional.  
Not that she believed shagging was meant to be detached. It was incredible. Soul to soul in magical union and physical plane each moment of connection. Truly, it was an experience full of raw feeling. Exposure to another with complete surrender, power over another and trust enough not to betray that.  
That was what it had been like with Malfoy, anyway.  
And that was enough reason to keep it private. If she announced how much she enjoyed it, then it was a different angle than how he viewed things. The last thing she needed this year was to be seen at the head-over-heels in love with the sex god of Hogwarts. Then she was just another dumb witch to fall for his abhorrent charms.  
What would that say about her?  
Her friend dropped her arm and sighed. “You’re right. You’d never do something so interesting. Well, I’ve got to go on now. Answer all my fan mail. They have to send in three owls now, so many letters.”  
The witch planted a kiss on Hermione’s cheek, flipped the length of her hair yet again, and skipped down the hall without a care of much of anything. There was almost a flicker of jealousy. The witch never had to worry about keeping her reputation clean from certain associations. If Pansy were to announce that she was marrying someone like Neville Longbottom, they’d go wild. Pansy would be changed to the good. She saw the light.  
If Hermione were to even have a rumor that she was shagging a Malfoy, the tabloids would consume them all. They’d draw conclusions, imply that she was a Death Eater spy during the war. Could she be trusted, they headline week after week. Any job, any position, any country she’d be in.  
Malfoy would taint her.  
Once Pansy Parkinson disappeared behind a wall, Hermione sighed in relief. It wasn’t true relief.  
The burning need for Malfoy was still there. It ate away at her slowly. She stood in the hallway of the tower, pondering where she could go. Malfoy was gone. She didn’t have the faintest clue where he’d be.  
Hermione pressed her palms across her eyes with frustration.  
Why couldn’t she just do what she wanted without worry of backlash? Not that she wanted to be Malfoy’s fuck toy. It was the last thing she expected to come out from the end of the war. She’d gone back to Hogwarts to get her exams done so she could accomplish something in the wizarding world. Harry and Ron were able to do anything without worry.  
Oh Merlin. She visibly blanched. Harry and Ron. What if they found out about Malfoy and her? What would they do to him?  
Harry was so easy to enrage when it came to Draco Malfoy. Always had. Ron was a bit more level headed (who would’ve thought!) when it came to it, but Ron would back Harry up no matter what. And those two were so protective over her. They never thought she could handle things on her own.  
The magic heat still swirled in her belly, calling out for Malfoy, when she realized that she’d have to announce to her two best friends in the whole world that she was shagging Malfoy, and didn’t want them to interfere. It was horrifying to imagine, but the pleasure her body needed, the lust, the very picture of Malfoy in her mind defused any worry over her best friends.  
She turned on heel to go satisfy her hunger when a head of platinum hair flashed. Hermione gasped.  
Malfoy leaned against the wall, arms crossed his chest, and a sharp look in his eye. It was not filled with lust like she was sure hers were.  
He produced an apple from his pocket. Granny Smith green. The flesh ruptured under his teeth as he bit through the apple in slow, deliberate motions.  
Her eyes focused on his mouth as he ate. Beautiful tongue ran over the juices bubbled from the fruit as he ate. Red of his mouth, green of apple skin, pale inside flesh. It was so alluring. She knew how the apple felt as his lips caressed it.  
When he lowered the fruit, they locked eyes.  
“So,” he said after he swallowed. “Krum, huh?”


	4. Deeper Still

### Deeper Still

"“What do you mean?” She asked. "

Her tone implied innocence. It brought up something deep inside him. 

"“He was your idea, wasn’t he, Granger? Pansy doesn’t know the wizard. Not in the confidence she thinks she does.” He dipped his hand inside his pocket to hide the fist he held. Sharp stings came up from his nails buried in the flesh. “It was you who suggested Krum go on your fuck spree, wasn’t it?”"

An anger unborrowed from deep rose up in strangled possession. The familiar tingle at his wand hand enraged him further. He’d taken his intensive therapy after the war seriously. All the rage he felt was diminished. It had no home inside him anymore. Yet here it was. Granger the source. Shocking as it was, it did not aid his control. 

Viktor Krum, the famous Seeker and admirer of Hermione Granger, was a git. Senseless brute was what he was. Draco watched the wizard closely when he attended Hogwarts during the year of the Triwizard Tournament. He admired the skill of the seeker. Liked him, even. Bulgaria was his favorite quidditch team.

The library was Granger’s favorite hangout, forcing everyone who needed a book to encounter her in her element within the aisles. That was how Draco noted the pathetic behavior of sheer admiration of the git as he followed Granger around the library without so much as a word. Whenever he opened his mouth, what fell out was a strangled grunt before he trekked away. 

His favor of the Seeker fell away. No honorable wizard acted in such a blubbering, stumbling manner over a witch. 

It was lost to Granger. Of course, she couldn’t help but tag alongside him like one of the gaggles of young witches that followed Krum throughout the castle. 

Now that it was his turn to enjoy the splendors, Krum emerged again. A competition. 

"“How do you expect Krum to share in all that fun when you retch every time he comes near?” He smirked."

She dipped her head low fidgeting with the strands of her sweater. “I can be near them. It’s just when they touch me that I gag.”

Her weight shifted side to side.

"“Last I checked,” Draco stepped forward, closer to her, “you have to touch to shag through Europe.”"

The witch sighed. “I did not think Pansy was serious when she suggested it.”

No surprise. Pansy was filled with detached lust for anything with two legs and a heartbeat.

"“So, shagging your way through Europe wasn’t your idea?” "

He very well knew it wasn’t. Granger was not overtly sexual. Unless you counted her Muggle fashion. That made him swell remembering how she bare her midriff was the day she left his Villa. 

"“No.”"

She swallowed hesitantly as her eyes raised to meet his. Her warm, brown eyes beheld him before they dipped down to his mouth. Once again, she stared at his lips. 

Even though he couldn’t smell her, the signs of her desire weren’t subtle. Granger had no experience hiding it. She was urgent to fill that void she now knew existed as if it was her first taste of lust. 

To get her to realize it was the problem.

"“Are you busy right now?” She asked suddenly. "

She clenched her jaw as soon as she said it. 

Delight pricked Draco’s interest. “That depends on what you have in mind, Granger. I won’t assist with your school work. That joy is all for you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t need help with school work.”

"“What is it that you need help with then?” "

"“It’s back in my suite,” she replied softly. "

Their lips were so close. His lips practically tingled with sensation as she drew near. But, just as he closed his eyes ready for the hunger in his belly to be satisfied, she pulled away. Her eyes boiled with frustration. Knuckles turned white as Hermione stood there.

Draco felt his own frustration flare. “What? What’d I do wrong now? You came on to me first. I’m giving you what you want. What kind of game is this?”

Suddenly she took hold of his wrist and pulled him along.

He followed, certain that it was what he wanted but quite unsure of what exact kind of game it was. She hadn’t played a game during their past night together. In fact, her body was quite inexperienced to the touch. It quivered anytime sensation neared. Even now, she trembled as she held onto him. Like he’d run away if she let go.

As if.

"“The suites are the other way, Granger.”"

She shook her head frantically. “No time.”

"“No time? That addicted to me, are you?” It was his own shot at tension relief since she seemed to carry a lot of it. "

Alerted, Draco studied her closely. She wasn’t acting like herself. Head Girl carried herself with pride, chin always high, and unafraid of any place in the castle. This Hermione Granger was not in any way proud. She turned on toe, bringing herself right up against his startled form.

"“And what if I am?” Her voice fell to breathy sighs. "

He didn’t know what to do. An entire mind of thoughts all wiped blank. 

How the hell was this the same Granger he’d hated all through school? She was too good for anyone, too innocent and witty for all the shagging nonsense, yet it seemed to be constantly on her mind.  
Draco was no innocent when it came to sexual liaisons. Girls would hike up their skirts for him in class just to give him a show. They’d suck him off in Hogwarts closets. Hell, even Pansy used to grab at him every so often for a fulfilling session in a Slytherin girl’s dorm. But, Granger? She kept herself tidied and trimmed. Hell, she blushed when a boy looked at her. The only one who dared ask was Krum, and she was clearly too dazzled by his reputation that she forgot to look inside his head to find nothing but air and stupidity.

Things were different now. War changed everything and everyone. Apparently, the Golden Girl was changed, too. 

Changed enough to consider a pureblood, ex Death Eater like him. 

But, she was _his._

He felt that much. All he saw was her curled in his arms or ravishing him in the Shrieking Shack without abandon. She’d committed herself to him. Opened up her bricked-up exterior so that they could share moments of vulnerability in a way that she wouldn’t dare show another.

When she came, he smelled himself on her. Her breathy moans, all his. Screams in sheer pleasure were all his that he ate with gluttony. 

Their time apart left her scent rather…unknown. She no longer smelled like his.

That had to change.

Draco turned his eyes down to her burning brown orbs, captured her lips with intensity, all while their eyes never left one another’s. He watched them roll in their sockets as his hands roamed over her flesh, tearing open her blasted sweater. A button hit the floor behind them. For a minute he thought she’d scorn him for being reckless, but her grip pulled him deeper still. 

Raging hunger overtook him. His tongue flickered at her lips, begging for entrance. Her taste. He needed it right now or he’d burst into frenzy like sharks around a chum bucket. 

_Taste, lick, smell._

He snarled when her lips stayed pressed together in a taut line.

"“Wait,” she gasped in between his deepening kisses. "

"“Don’t say later,” he deeply growled. “Don’t you say it. I can’t do later.” "

"“But Mal-.” "

Draco attached his lips at a spot he knew would melt her to nothing. The tender thrum of her pulse right below his lick drove her wild. She moaned. It echoed through the empty halls like a radiation roar of a dragon.

The more she tried to speak, the harder he licked and sucked on her. He couldn’t hear her say later. It’d killed him in potions to retreat. 

"“Salazar! I want you Granger. I need you.” "

He allowed himself the slip of desperation. It would keep her there, he knew.

Need was Granger’s thing.

"“You can’t bloody have me if we’re in the middle of a school hallway,” she said in a strained attempt. The pleasure was getting on her nerves. "

"“Suites are too far, just like you said.”"

He edged his hands on the waistband of her skirt. It crossed his mind not to take it off her. How lovely it was to watch her in that skirt around school. It’d been even lovelier if he could remember fucking her in it.

Others could look, but only he, Draco Malfoy, could touch. 

The frantic whimpering of her encouraged his fingers to roam further inside her warm clothes straight against her flushed skin. Down to the edge of her panties, until he felt a distinct wetness there. He crinkled his brow as he felt around. 

He brought the juice to the light of day. It was sticky and sweet and…her. 

"“Granger?” He felt incredibly tense. “Is there some other lover that I should know about?” "

Her eyes flickered to his glistening fingers. A hot pink flush came to her cheeks as she stared at her own sweetness on his fingers. 

Draco’s jaw set in a sharp line. He was supposed to be the only one who could touch her.

"“Who else is there? I’d hate to intervene on their shag schedule. Perhaps if I got a copy, I wouldn’t overstep.”"

The frantic sound of gasps echoed out of her throat. “I-I-I…I couldn’t find you, so I had to…But I couldn’t do it like you.”

She looked away; the hot burn of her cheeks burned brighter. 

There was relief, and then there was the frenzy again. He was glued upon her flesh, sucking every little place he could reach as she bit back her moans, though they were easy enough for him to read.

"“Been naughty, have you?” He snarled against her skin as he reached back up her skirt to the soft wet that waited there. Just for him. “Don’t be shy now. Tell me how it felt to touch yourself.”  
The hard tip of her clit poked through her pussy flesh. Draco rubbed on it frantically, staring into her eyes as she shuddered against the cold stone wall. Her lips murmured little nothings as her folds became a slick below. "

Draco’s resolve hardened. “Tell me, Granger. Say just how it felt.”

"“Not like this,” she breathed. "

"“Were you wet like this?”"

She whimpered when he pulled at her pussy lips. “No. I couldn’t get deep enough.”

A frantic shudder erupted down his spine. Holy Salazar, she was better than he thought.

He came closer; lips right against her ear. “You like it deep, do you?”

Hermione’s mouth opened to reply but was stifled when two hot fingers shoved into her with a purposeful wiggle right against her G-spot. It turned her tense thighs to nothing. Her body started to slide down the wall, eyes rolled back in a sudden seizure of pleasure, fingers pumping in and out of her. Their long strokes were all she focused on.

In and out, gently pulling out entirely before plunging back inside. 

It was all he could stand. She had to be naked spread eagle on a bed so he could watch what he did to her. Memorize every way she quivered as he took her over and over.

The haze of whiskey left their encounter more of a blur than he cared for. He needed to see it. See her. 

"“Let’s go,” he said. His hand withdrew from her pussy and shuddered in the cold air of the castle. Just by the way her chest lunged, Hermione felt the same sensation fill her up in his absence. “Your suite.” "

She jumped on him in the next second, giving him only a split moment to catch her thighs. They slammed back against the wall behind him, lost in each other’s kiss again. 

Hermione grinded her soaked panties against the tent in his trousers, teasing his every bit of restraint.

"“It’s too far,” she moaned before taking a gentle nip on his bottom lip. "

"“Where then?” He asked bitterly. "

She was testing what little patience he had. The hallway was seeming a better option by the second.

"“Well there’s always the Room of Requirement.” "

He didn’t need to hear another thing. They both dashed through the hallways up to the Seventh Floor where, thankfully, no other students were because of the beautiful weather.

They kissed again when they reached the space of bare wall. Of course, it left them pushed against the wall going to each other’s clothing with no concern for being found, when the room opened and flung them both inside.

Hogwarts was talented at keeping itself sacred, even if the students did not.

The room was equipped with a large canopy bed wrapped in gossamer curtains tied to each black post. It was the largest bed imaginable. It would fit five shagging couples with a decent amount of space between. A chandelier hung from the canopy top, fitted with pale blue crystals and flickering flame. It swayed gently as Hermione climbed inside. 

Her eyes were as big as saucers. So entranced by the room’s proclivity for effectiveness. 

The bedspread was an ocean blue bewitched to look like ocean waves as they moved. 

She laid back against the white fluffed pillows lost in a daze. Her fingers ran through the cut grooves of the frame, toyed with the frills of colored fabric, caressed the lush comforter with a deeper pleasure.

Draco was frozen in place. Something about her look so beautiful as she laid there, amongst the sea, in her own private ship. He even liked the way her eyes looked when she was pleased like that. They sparkled, wide so she didn’t miss a single detail. 

Her sweater that he wretched open earlier was splayed at her sides, only a gray cami beneath. It exposed the tops of her breasts as she heaved heavy sighs. The pleated skirt he loved so much had fallen against her creamy thighs as she beheld the scene laid before her, one of her stockings was half way down her leg. Shapely calves glowed in the soft yellow light. 

Most of the room was dark apart from the haze of the candles. He saw a plush rug below his shoes, and a rows and rows of candles wrapped around the walls, but nothing else. It was all focused on the bed.

"“Are you against this now that it’s suddenly real?” Her voice drifted through the quiet air."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. “Real?”

She still laid atop the bed with a dazed look in her eye. “It isn’t a drunken mistake. Neither of us are impaired. We can’t blame it on anything but us. And don’t blame it on my Muggleborn charms either. You can’t. You consent to it just as much as I do.”

"“I’m not the one who ran away last time!” He didn’t know why it made him so angry, but he certainly deserved more than that from her. “It was you that it got too real for, Granger. Not me. I’m the one whose chased you all around this bleeding castle. At least I had the courage to show myself the next day, not hide away in shame like a coward.”"

Hermione jumped to her knees. “I’m no coward, Draco Malfoy.”

"“Then prove it,” he spat. "

"“Fine. Accio Draco.”"

His body shot out from under his control and flung itself toward the bed. It was staggering how helpless he felt in the moment. The weight of his entire being was lifted away. But just like a sudden snap, it all came back as his shins collided with the edge of the bed frame.

He snarled viciously.

She simply looked pleased. The little witch.

"“What’s a little pleasure without pain?” Her lips smirked as she pulled on the shoulder of his robes into the bed and pushed him below her. "

"“My thoughts exactly.”"

His hand swung up and smacked her ass. 

She gritted her teeth as she undressed him, furiously ripping off his shirt and yanking at his belt. The anger she exhibited was only fueled by his piercing glare. Neither wanted to relent their pride to the other, even as their bodies writhed to be joined again.

When he was promptly undressed down to nothing but his boxers, Draco raised to sitting, placed her atop his lap and proceeded to pull her clothes away from her flesh. She still gritted her teeth in frustration but raised no objection. Not even when his fingers lingered against her breasts. She simply watched his every move until her skirt was hiked to her waist, sweater and bra discarded on the floor. Next was her panties.

Draco kept his eyes glued to hers as he reached up under the hem of her skirt, dancing around the frilly edges of her silk underwear meant only for special occasions and gripped them in his hand. He paused for a moment. Every feature of her was torn between lust and anger. She tried to force herself impassive to his actions, but the trembling breaths highlighted just how much she wanted it.

He tore the panties away. The ripped fabric gave little fight to his strength and gave defeat in a lifeless mess atop the steady waves of the bedspread. 

The body above his shuddered as she was now completely exposed to him once again, unaided in courage with firewhiskey. 

It was all her choice. A choice, as far as he could tell, was not bothering her as much as he thought it would.

Her hands shot out in front of her, against his hard chest, and pushed him down to his back. She climbed up above his stiff cock already hardened by her bold need of him, toyed it slightly in her warm hands and grinned when he groaned in response. 

He hadn’t the time to comment. The next second she plunged his cock inside her slick pussy, yelping as she did so. It sunk farther than she expected.

Perhaps it was her inexperience that didn’t realize just how deeper it was with her on top. 

Draco laid totally transfixed as she shifted her hips forward, smacking his own cock against her G-spot. She yelped again, followed by a primal moan. 

He didn’t want to impose on her control since it was her prerogative to prove herself, but his need to touch her was far stronger than his will to respect her fury. He grabbed hold of her hips in a taut grasp. She didn’t push him away. Instead she rocked with his rhythm, biting back whimpers loud enough to be screams, as his cock rubbed all around her aching pussy.

The harder she rocked, the louder her moans were. 

Her small hands reached up and started to tug at her rosy nipples. She whimpered, eyes closed, as she allowed him to take control of their shagging. 

All the excitement from the hallway, and even from her anger, left him ready to explode inside her just as was his place, but she needed to feel him, too. He wanted her to crave him, only him. 

He raised himself up again, still holding her hips and fucking her away in that place of pleasure where her eyes rolled back, and her body felt limp with over-sensation. 

"“Granger,” he said."

She was lost still. Her body kept responding, moaning shrill cries as he thrust deeper.

"“Granger,” he repeated. He wanted her attention now. It was his turn to be angry. "

Finally, after a minute, he brought himself to growl fiercely into her ear. “Hermione. Open your eyes and look at me.”

They snapped wide open. He stared into her soft cinnamon-swirl irises at her full attention, relishing the pickling of his skin as he felt the power over her wash through him. She was at his mercy. Her release depended upon his dedication to his, and there was nothing he wanted more than to burn her pride with his ownership. 

Something she couldn’t wash off. 

"“You like this, don’t you? Tell me you like it.” "

He thrust deeper, and her body stayed rigid for a moment. 

"“Yes. Yes, I like it,” she whimpered. "

Draco picked up his pace. The sharp tingle in his balls was on edge, stronger than he ever felt. He had to make her cum first. It had to be for her.

"“Tell me this pussy is mine, Granger.” Her nails dug into his shoulders as he pushed himself harder and harder into her tiny pussy. She was begging him to not stop. “I own this. No one else can use it, no one can touch it or smell it, but me. Right? Say it. Say it, Granger. Say that I own your pussy.” "

Her eyes rolled back. “Oh. No one else.”

"“No one else.” He echoed. All her flesh clenched around him. He was so close, but so was she. He reached out and started to rub her juicy clit. "

She screamed out his name. “Draco. Oh, don’t stop. Fuuu- Draco, yes!”

"“No one else goes here. You understand?” He flicked the flesh harder as she started bucking uncontrollably. “Not Krum, nor Longbottom. Just Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Only me. Mine.” "

Her body shuddered uncontrollably, sending waves of juices down his shaft and her chest right against his. Her lips murmured against his skin as he kept pumping away inside her.

The scent of her cum filled the air around them.

"“Only yours. Only yours,” she whispered."

He climaxed with a low growl and collapsed back. Her body fell after him, laying across his chest, hair thrown every which way. Her nipples caressing his hardened pecs.

They each matched the ragged breaths of the other. 

Panting, Granger raised to her arms after a few passed minutes. Her naked chest atop of his. There was no more blush on her face. Only a small grin.

He eyed her curiously. “What are you so damn happy about?”

"“Proved you wrong, didn’t I?” She mumbled happily, tracing the lines of his muscles down his chest. “Proved I wasn’t a coward.”"

Draco snickered. “If anything, you proved me right.”

Her caress stopped. He cursed his quick tongue for making work of her good mood. She felt nice against his flesh. He especially didn’t object to her touch all over him.

She wrinkled her nose. “How do you mean?”

"“You just proved that you want me just as much as I want you.”"

A look of terrible realization dawned across her face. So much for post-coital bliss. 

She shrunk away from his gaze, ducking her cheek to his chest. “So what if it’s true. I’m allowed to enjoy things, too.”

A stunned silence fell over the room as he debated what to say. What was there to say? It was the second time she admitted, to his face, that she enjoyed shagging him. It wasn’t a secret. More like, an unspoken truth. Something that wasn’t supposed to be commented on, just acknowledged in the back of one’s mind. 

Hermione stayed cuddled against his chest out of sight in a way that frustrated Draco. He wanted to see her, not just an explosion of brown curls everywhere. 

"“Come on,” he said softly, pulling at her arms. “Don’t be shy. We’re far past that point, aren’t we?” "

Her eyes refused to meet his, but she still allowed herself to be readjusted alongside him on the massive bed. Sometime during their romp, the curtains had closed. Draco and Hermione were completely encased in a sea scape around them, as if they laid on a deserted ocean beach in the middle of summer. 

She turned away from him, which Draco only took as an invitation to spoon up against her backside. Not that he was complaining. It was just as beautiful as her front. 

He pushed one arm underneath her and wrapped the other round too, so that her entire torso was laced in his limbs. Their bodies fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. Although it was far more intimate than he liked, Draco nuzzled his face against her neck.

"“You can always come find me,” he heard himself saying before he even realized the thought. “You don’t have to settle for second best. I’ll do it for you.” "

Hopefully that was what she wanted to hear.

"“I’d hate to fill up your shagging schedule,” she retorted softly. "

He chuckled against the soft nape of her neck. “How many witches do you think are lining up to shag an ex Death eater?”

"“You’re still you.”"

"“If you haven’t noticed,” he pulled himself flush against her bare back, “that’s kind of the issue.” "


	5. Conflicted

### Conflicted

What in the bloody hell was she doing with Draco Malfoy?

Hermione Granger felt angry with herself, betrayed by her own body, to be so drawn to another wizard with whom she detested above all others for years. Yes, he was reformed. And yes, he was kind and gentle. He was still that same old rotten git who tried to make her entire childhood hell all for the sake of blood purity. He joined Voldemort for God’s sakes!

The silence of the library was interrupted as she banged her head against the table, followed by her own groan at just how much force she’d used. 

She rubbed the sore spot as her thoughts reeled. Yesterday had been perfectly fine. Normal. Her resistance of him was doing fine. She’d only sorta missed him, and when she thought of him, she only alluded to his physical being, when she encountered Bavmorda Blatt’s portrait. Then it was like electricity. Magic surged through every sensitive region she had.

It was desire that led her to Malfoy yesterday. That was it. Lust-filled eyes unable to see the true clarity of reality.

The portrait had to be the culprit of it. There was no other explanation. She knew it wasn’t her that wanted Malfoy. In fact, she wanted nothing more than to be rid of him. Rid of his ridiculous change, and calm demeanor, and ungodly attractiveness and sharp wit. He was evil incarnate. Only a spell could force her to see past all that, and it had to be stopped before she truly did something she regretted.  
Putting her study materials back to their corresponding shelves, she made her way to the librarian’s desk with a marked determination to rid herself of the white ferret that kept tempting her back into wiles of sex in a beloved, ancient castle that was more home to her than anything. 

The librarian, Pince, was nose deep in a novel when Hermione approached. She waited a good four minutes before the woman placed the paperback aside and turned her attention to a student in need.

“What can I help you with today, Miss Granger?”

She snaked hands through her tamed curls, tugging gently until frays of frizz started to reappear. “I was hoping to find more information on Bavmorda Blatt.”

For all the quiet of the school library, the librarian still needed a few more repeats before she finally heard what Hermione had said. It frustration her more and more as the elderly women leaned closer to hear better.

It was urgent business! Couldn’t the woman see that Hermione was cursed?

“Bavmorda Blatt, you say. Not many come searching for her,” the woman announced with a nod. “What is your query?”

“Her portrait is in the hallway, but we aren’t taught on her impact of magic.”

“Miss Blatt’s focus is a tad more mature in topics than what it taught at Hogwarts to underage students,” the librarian explained. 

There was a lull in conversation as Hermione expected more to be added or perhaps a suggestion given, yet the librarian made no move to supply more than what she already had.

Hermione sighed. “Well, I’d like to learn more about her. What was her focus of study?”

“Oh dear. You don’t want to learn about her ilk. Why not pick a more respectable witch to research? There are quite a few that are not so unsavory as she.”

It was next to impossible to suppress the groan that Hermione wanted to express in the woman’s face. By now, she had to understand that under no circumstance would Hermione be deterred from learning whatever she wanted to know which is why she had a free pass to the restricted section. 

She might have been nice, as she usually was to the old librarian, but time was of the essence if she was to break the curse of Malfoy’s bewitched genitals before she found her way to them once more. It’d taken more than enough effort just to avoid him after the Room of Requirement and at breakfast this morning where he’d taken to trying to get her attention with footsy underneath the table. 

Merlin help her. If she knew anything about his tenacity, he’d come looking for her in the library the moment he had time. She had to move on and soon.

“I’ve picked Bavmorda Blatt and I’d like to know where I might find a book on her, please.”

Madame Pince noticed that Hermione spoke through gritted teeth in her request. The old woman’s eyes squinted farther until they were two wrinkly slits on nothing but grayed eyelashes.

“I’m afraid I’ll need written permission from a professor,” Pince said.

“But I have all the written permissions I need,” Hermione said, again through gritted teeth. “I’ve had them for years. There are no other levels of pass that I can achieve without being a headmistress.”

“I shall owl Headmistress McGonagall on your behalf. She would like to know, I’m sure, of what kind of research her own library is being used for.”

Dead end. The woman waved her wrist to shoo Hermione away in favor of her novel whilst an enchanted quill scratched at a roll of parchment. She trudged out of the library without a second to spare when she felt that Malfoy was coming. His presence was a commanding one. The very air of the hallway changed whenever he drew near.

Hermione raced up the tower stairs, hoping to avoid him. It was not the time. She needed clarity. There was no clarity in his air. All that came from his air was a cloud of lust and urgent need of body. A total disconnect of rational thinking. 

No. She needed her head to solve her problem. 

Higher up in the tower was mostly abandoned classrooms and the room of requirement along with a few other things. Nothing of much consequence was near. Not even class was held up there. It was the perfect place to hide away. 

Hermione beelined away from the Room of Requirement. The temptation to hide there was not just, she knew. It was selfish to wish for the serene isolation for love making inside a place of knowledge and wisdom. She felt lucky the castle didn’t smite her down for an atrocious act of desecration against the grounds.

Shagging Malfoy in the school grounds while intoxicated was one thing. But knowingly finding a place within the walls just to fool around some more? It was obscene. She deserved a demerit of her grade. Or worse, loss of her Head Girl duties. 

Though, she was glad it wasn’t that. Guiltily. It felt thrilling to be with Malfoy. She felt alive once more. Her magic never felt so powerful and bursting. Just his touch was enough to make her engulf the school in flames, if she tried. 

Hermione had to stop herself before she felt the tug of her lions for his again. 

She walked quicker through the halls. Alone. She had to be alone, without him near her, and without anyone else to remind her how much she needed him again.

There was a room that had a circular window that streamed in tons of light during the day. It was a brilliant place in the summer, and absolutely awful in the winter. But with the days still so warm, the room was bound to be a beautiful spot to hide away.

Hermione found the door and slipped inside without a sound. 

“Hermione!” A voice gasped up from behind her. “What are you doin’ up here?”

She stood frozen, unable to believe the luck. Someone also knew about the spot just like she did. 

Neville stood near the window, perched overtop a single row of leafy blue plants in their own planters. Each was about the length of her forearm, some a bit taller and shorter than that. Four had two flat leaves at their tops. The five others were bare naked stems.

A sudden blush came to Neville’s face as she looked at him curiously.

“A project of mine,” he explained with a shy smile. 

At least someone in the castle wasn’t focused on shagging.

“Excellent, Neville. They look wonderful,” she responded.

Her book bag dropped to the floor and she came nearer the plants. As if sensing her presence, the plants bent in her direction. One even strained its leaves out to her leg. She knelt down to inspect.  
Neville knelt beside her. “They’re my own mix, you know. I created this specific species to see their ability to grow in a magically enriched environment, like Hogwarts, versus just a plain old field. These ones are much more advanced than the ones outside. Some have got better light. That’s why these have their leaves already. Weren’t due for a few more weeks, even.”

She listened as he spoke of his project, the beauty of nature and the wonders of magical plant cross species. He didn’t look for input, so it progressed at a very quick rate. She just allowed herself to gently touch the plant’s bodies as she listened to her friend. The plants reacted much like animal’s did to human touch. Their little blue stems wiggled more as her fingers dragged down their lengths. A few where a bit uncertain of her. They stayed to their own pots.

When he was done, Neville settled down into the silence alongside her. It lasted for quite a while. Neither wanted to disrupt the comfort of the room with words. It being Neville, it was a wonderful gift. He kept to himself most times. He wasn’t a confident wizard. Never had been. But he’d proven himself quite an impressive one during the war. Everyone expected it to be when Neville hit his stride, and finally became the cool, confident wizard they all thought he should be. 

But right when the war was finished, he turned back to his plants and his usual demeanor of uncertainty. 

Hermione appreciated Neville that way. He hadn’t let things affect him so severely. He was the same as he always was in spite of everything they knew and witnessed. His world view hadn’t changed.

More than ever, Hermione wished to be that ignorant, happy witch she was before Voldemort. But there was no turning off the mind once it knew horrors. She pictured them every night. They turned her body slick with cold sweat. Sometimes it felt as if the war hadn’t really ended. She would be reading in a novel and glance away from the page to find herself lost in the Forest of Dean again. On the run. Alone. Scared. Unable to move forward because she didn’t know which way it was. 

The entire world glamorized her efforts in the war. They down-played the terrors that Ron, Harry and her faced. All of a sudden, they were superstars. Heroes of war. Fighters of light. 

But darkness was there in their souls.

Hermione felt unwanted in the world, even though she’d just saved it. Unwanted and different. 

Sure, she was wanted for her knowledge, her ability to solve problems and just the general help with homework stuff, but she wasn’t wanted as a witch. As a woman. She saw the entire wizarding world turn their back on people like her just to save their own skins, and it hurt more than she realized. 

She, Hermione Granger, would never belong anywhere.

“How have you been feeling?” Neville asked softly.

She wrinkled her brow. “Feeling?”

It’d been ages since she was actually ill with anything. The worst of it was that hangover she had Sunday morning.

“I mean, do you still get sick when a boy touches you?” A red blush came to his pale cheeks.

“Oh that. Yes, I still do that.”

“Have you been to Pomphrey? Sure she’d know what to do,” he said. “Though I’m sure it isn’t a common thing, that. Or, at least, I haven’t heard of it.”

One of his plants looped around the top of Hermione’s finger. She smiled as it wiggled there happily, until another plant tried to wrap around her other one, then there was a fight of stems over who would wrap around her finger tips.

Hermione smiled. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I feel quite myself.”

“Really? You look frustrated to me.”

“That’s because of that old dragon Madame Pince. She wouldn’t allow me to find any information on a witch I’m researching. A witch whose portrait is displayed in the castle no less!” Her anger flared all over again. “She required me to get permission from McGonagall before she’ll direct me in the right place. Isn’t that such rubbish?”

The plants reacted to her anger quite obviously. They retreated from her fingers back to the shadows under the window sill. 

Suddenly she felt awful for scaring Neville’s plants over something so silly. Of course, she’d get permission. It was school rules after all. Every student researching unsavory materials should be cleared by a staff member first. 

It just hurt a little bit of her pride. The one thing she had was her mind. Why was she being denied from enrichment? 

Neville glanced over with a sorry look. “I’m sure they just want to protect you. Look what happened with Salazar and Tom Riddle. Don’t want to make that mistake twice.”

“I don’t think she’s like that,” Hermione exhaled. “We’d have learned about her then. But nothing. Her name hasn’t been uttered in a single class. It’s like they are ashamed of her or something.”

“Who’s the witch?”

Hermione rubbed her temples. She needed a bath. A long relaxing bath with bubbles so high she can’t see the walls anymore.

“Bavmorda Blatt.” The name fell flatly off her tongue.

Bavmorda Blatt was causing her all sorts of problems she wasn’t sure how to deal with. The witch must be the female version of Voldemort to cause this much stir in magical educators. 

Why did she have to touch that portrait? What did this witch have against her that she cursed Hermione with an unstoppable need to ride Malfoy until he was naught but bone and sunken flesh. 

“Oh.” Her friend exclaimed with a nervous chuckle. “I think I might know why they don’t want you to know about her.”

Hope, for once, leapt in Hermione’s delighted chest. 

“Really? Why?”

The violet red blush on Neville’s cheeks did not deter her. Nor him.

“She studied magical attraction,” he explained.

Her forehead creased in confusion. “Like love?”

“And sex,” Neville added. He struggled to catch his breath under Hermione’s gaze. He rose to his feet and loosened his tie gently. “She thought that magic wasn’t all the same. That some people had different kinds and that all kinds of magic wanted to grow and change. It is what, she thought, made relationships work in the wizarding community. Their magic found another source it wanted to join and thus recreate through progeny.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s it? That’s what all the secrecy and weirdness is for? The idea that sex and copulation go hand in hand is not exactly secret to any second year in Hogwarts. Much less an eighth year.”

“It was a long time ago when she did her research,” he mumbled as he fiddled with one of his plants. “People thought it was weird to talk about sex and what they found so appealing about sex with their partner. I mean, I’d be weird about it too if I were studied.”

All the mystery. All the roadblocks. All the dumb reactions. 

The built up was more thrilling than the end result in Hermione’s opinion. Yet, it did explain why she was suddenly convulsing with need at a single look from Malfoy. She must have cursed her portrait to ensure that her studies were taken seriously. 

I mean, Hermione was unable to stop her own magic from seeking out Malfoy’s. It practically gave credence to what the woman talked about. If it wasn’t all forced by a spell. 

Some time later, Neville noticed the time. “Blimey, Hermione. We better get going if we’re going to make it to Charms.”

The two hoofed it down the tower stairs, barely avoiding a gaggle of lingering third years along the walls that would have send a good ten students to the hospital wing for broken bones for certain.

Neville ran faster. Hermione’s short legs kept her behind him, only entering class a second in time.

Both stood panting like they’d just outran dementors. Neither seemed to notice the overwhelming sea of student eyes until Hermione jumped in shock.

Every single person, Draco Malfoy included, watched her gasp for breath alongside Neville Longbottom like a pair of confused first years. It was mortifying. She’d never missed class for no reason before. It was the first time she’d been tardy for no reason other than her own disregard.

“Come on, Neville,” she said as she grabbed hold of his arm.

Instantly she regretted the tender moment. Thick globs of salvia gushed to her tongue as a fit of gags sent her back into another fit in front of the entire class. She turned bright red with embarrassment as Neville stumbled after her trying to help, but touched her hand once more, and sent her to the ground. 

There were a few chuckles throughout. She heard them. She tried not to focus too much on their amusement since her primary concern was to not vomit. 

“Miss Granger!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed in shock when he entered his classroom to find his best student on the ground in fits. “Whatever has happened to you?”

Dignity. She needed a scrap of it to make it through the rest of the day. 

“Nothing, sir.” She swallowed back a gulp of air.

“She’s ill, professor.” Hermione glared at Neville as he spoke. “She’s been like this for two days. Fits like this. I can’t help her. It just makes it worse.”

The short professor adjusted the glass to the top of his nose. “A trip to Madame Pomphrey should have you sorted out.”

“But, sir, please. I don’t want to miss my lesson,” she gasped. A few tears fell down her cheeks. The stupid gagging left her a mess. She wiped them away quickly.

Flitwick seemed amused. “You had this mastered your last year. There is no reason to linger when you feel ill. Report to the hospital wing straight away, Miss Granger. No dawdling.”

He wouldn’t hear any pleading nor reason. He dismissed her from his classroom and started the lesson as she was left to find her way to Madame Pomphrey. 

She had no intention of doing such a thing. 

Hermione Granger walked for her suite in the eight year’s tower. The common room was dead. Most of her year was in the classroom she’d just left. It was odd to find so much freedom without the others near. She could throw her things down to the carpet without worry a dirty shoe would step on them or pull off her sweater without a pair of teenage boy eyes on her like hyenas. 

Minutes later after a giant tub of hot bubbly water filled to the brim, Hermione dropped her school robes to the floor and hopped inside the warmth without another thought of anything but tingles. The tingles that tugged at her skin gently. Perhaps it was a bit too hot for her. The white of her arms turned red. 

She surfaced through a dense layer of white bubbles with a renewed mood. Some alone time was exactly what she wanted, wasn’t it? Time to reflect. Time to relax. Perhaps, even, a bit more of self-exploration. It was her body after all. The fact that a stranger practically knew her body better than she was preposterous. How was she supposed to rid herself of Malfoy if only he knew how to make her thighs quake?

A gentle wave of her wand dimmed the light of the white bathroom to almost darkness apart from a few flickering candles near the ledge. A humming melody crawled out of a speaker like soft whispers.

The bubbles, the candles, the music.

Oh Merlin. She was trying to seduce herself. 

Hermione buried her face in her hands in disbelief. What the hell was she doing? A grown woman still embarrassed to acknowledge her naked form and the physical needs it exhibited. Only a bloody coward would shy away from something so natural. 

If there was one thing Hermione Granger wasn’t, it was a coward.

Her hands first grasped at the small mounds of flesh on her chest, gasping when their tight touch collided with her overly sensitive skin. Her breasts. In her hands. What did she do now?

She moved them around in circles. Her eyes closed as she tried to relive the sensation that she felt in bed with Malfoy. Of course, it was his mouth that attached to her nipple that sent a hot shot to her clit. A pinch to the rosy flesh had to do. 

The tweaked nipple hardened suddenly, and the feeling arched her back in newfound delight. She’d done it. She made herself gasp. 

With Malfoy it wasn’t a gasp. She moaned, shrieked and groaned like a medieval animal as she neared the peak of her pleasure, the quick need to rut herself against him like an urge to breath air. It had to happen. She’d die without it.

She loved the way long strands of his platinum hair fell away, brushing gently against the warm skin of her thighs as Malfoy teased her. A trail of his saliva up her body, circling her bellybutton, nipping at her breasts, sucking on the divot of her neck, as his fingers ran their own course. 

Those eyes. Ice grey. They latched onto hers as he did things. He liked to watch her cry out. It almost fascinated him when she shivered. Part of her liked that. She wanted his eyes to watch her squirm under his grasp as he pushed deeper, pushing her toward her limit. The thrill that shined through his features made her buck harder against him. Somehow, she liked it better when he watched.

Sometime in her imagination, she reached out for her swollen clit. It twitched as she started slow, gentle circles round and round, and as she felt the fire burn her deeper, the fingers quickened. Her entire body clenched in anticipation for the edge to be reached.

This time she let out a moan. Audible to just her. 

It bounced back to her ears like a siren song. A slick oil coated her hand as she explored herself deeper and harder this time. She wanted to know every muscle of hers. What pleasures it held. Her moans, a constant song as she worked along. 

Although it was nothing compared to the hot caress of his tongue, her pussy was filled with sensation ready to burst when it just kept escaping her. The harder she pushed to reach the peak, the farther it went away. In waves, just as her pleasure began, it escaped her grasp. No manner of rubbing her clit, fucking herself senseless, or bit of imagination could get her over that cliff.

She screamed in frustration. 

“Had enough without me?”

The voice interrupted the quiet of her room like a bell. Her eyes snapped open with a start, sending a wave of bathwater and bubbles to the floor. All over her clothes and towel. 

“How’d you get in here?” She snarled, crossing her arms across her exposed chest.

This was a private moment; not meant to be seen by another person. Hadn’t she had even humiliation for one day?

Malfoy snickered lightly. “This thing they call a door. I hear it is rather revolutionary. Opens walls and everything.”

“I meant,” she shot him a murderous glare, “why aren’t you in class?”

“Told Flitwick I left my book up here,” he answered with a shrug.

She was surprised at his restraint to stay in the doorway. He was often closer than he needed to be within seconds of finding her. Now, he stayed perched decidedly away from her. His hands were buried deep inside his pockets. She figured those were the only things in his pants by the looks of it. 

He’d caught her pleasing herself inside a bathtub, in the most romantic way anyone could think of, and he wasn’t turned on? 

Hermione gritted her teeth. “Well it isn’t in here, so look elsewhere.”

She turned her back to him, happy to ignore him like he wasn’t even there. A move that was sure to insult the prideful Slytherin more than she cared to think about. 

Just like she thought, Draco was not happy with the action. His blank face changed to an impressive scowl.

“Had quite the work out earlier by the looks of it,” he sneered. “Longbottom keeps a pretty good pace apparently.”

It was decidedly colder than he’d addressed her before.

“What the bleeding hell is your problem?” She turned around once more, sending a small wash of water over the sides of her tub. It was now a bit lower than she’d ran it. The tips of her nipples were near to the water line. “We were almost late for class. We had to run. Sorry if my fit of dry heaves disturbed you and your precious, ever-pumping libido, but I can’t help it!”

Malfoy scrunched his nose like he smelled something rotten. “You could have shown up half drunk to class and puked all over a professor and I still wouldn’t have cared. What I do mind is you running around this castle with every wizard you can think of.”

He grew angry in her silence.

“You said you wouldn’t run from me.” His voice was anything but cold. It was razor hot with angry as he greatly tried to anchor himself to the doorway. “You said that you weren’t shagging anyone else. I came to the library today. I know you were there. I could tell. But then, right when I get there, you’re nowhere to be found. You show up late to class with that oaf Longbottom, out of breath and red in the face. What the hell am I supposed to think?”

“Are you out of your mind?” She shrieked. Her body shot straight as an arrow to her feet, naked and flushed, without a care just what he saw of her body. It wasn’t anything new to him anyway. “We aren’t together, you know.”

“The hell we aren’t,” he spat.

Hermione climbed down out of the tub, careful not to slip and crack her head against the floor and marched up to him with a finger pointed at the ready. “We aren’t. There is no way I’d let my boyfriend march around Hogwarts with that slut of a blonde fifth year, I tell you that much.”

She’d seen him being all too friendly with the girl just hours before.

“It’s not the same.”

“Oh. Right. Because your dick has already led you down those waters, hasn’t it?” Hermione turned around, tangling her fingers in her already curled locks as she tried to grab hold of a rational thought. Any one. She just needed one to get her out of the spiral. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “I don’t share, Granger. Not with anyone. Especially with the likes of Longbottom.”

“Nothing you can do to stop me.”

To say she was taken aback was an understatement. What did he care if she screwed around? It wasn’t his business. 

None of it was. Who she shagged was in complete privacy of herself, owed to no one.

She had lost track of Malfoy in her own thoughts. He was inside the room now, not even a foot in front of her. The strength of his features worried the butterflies in Hermione’s stomach as she watched him take deliberate steps nearer, smirking when she swallowed audibly in the quiet of the loo.

He had her backed up against the sink. Her hands gripped the cool edge as an anchor to the moment. The devilish twinkle through his grey told her to prepare, for anything she could think of. 

Ever so slowly, his hands reached out and latched around each wrist, keeping it anchored to the stone. 

Icy grays aligned with hers. “No one else. You remember that, don’t you? No one else, but me.”

Her breath caught inside her chest. Just the words brought back the vivid memory of his cock plunged deep through her wet slits. 

“That didn’t mean anything.” Her voice was a whisper throughout the still. It merely disturbed her breath. 

Not his. He was unbothered by her resistance. All he did was move close until he loomed overhead. 

“I beg to differ with you, witch. It meant everything.”

Her gaze met his, and for a sudden instant, she felt like he was right. 

They were everything.


	6. A Gift

### A Gift

Hermione was thrown against her bedspread like a ragdoll to his strength. She flopped against the mattress, back to her knees in a second. It was a bit of a shock to find herself there after only a minute of silence in the bathroom after he caught her, especially with her hands down her pants. Now they were going to just snog like crazy instead of arguing?

Malfoy stood at the edge of her bed with a glint of hunger in his eye.

He opened his mouth, no doubt to spark another fuse, but she was quicker than him. She laced her fingers under the base of his tie, pulled him forward and planted her lips atop his. The warmth was well worth the wait. Something about his lips were a blessed high that she craved.

“Just shut up,” she whispered when she pulled away for air.

“Thank Salazar,” Malfoy moaned. His knees raised to the mattress. He walked close. His hands reached out for her waist. Their pale length in reminder of something else she wanted to reach out for her. “Pretending to argue is taxing.”

A surge of excitement shot through her. He didn’t like to argue? Malfoy was there for her. Not his anger or lust. He wanted her.

Her lips backed away slowly to watch him, but his sought her out through closed eyes. He tried to find his way back to her lips until he finally gripped her tight and threw her against his chest. There wasn’t another second until the tip of a tongue slipped through her parted lips like a snake through a cave. So slippery, sneaky. 

Slowly, she took his hands away from her waist and lowered them to his sides. He let them hang there as they kissed with fever. Passion filled their lips stronger and stronger. All the while, not matter how they twitched or started to reach out for her, Malfoy kept his hands at his sides.

Oh Godric! She owned him.

She couldn’t stop herself from gripping his shirt so tensely as her tongue scoured the sweet delectable taste of his mouth that the fabric ripped in her hand. A thought to be embarrassed emerged, but when his kissing didn’t stop, neither did she.

The white shirt dropped from his shoulders in a smooth slide, as her fingers ran over the taut flesh it revealed. Every edge of his was smooth. She liked the way he felt. Soft, gentle. An angel in the flesh all at her disposal. Little resistance came on their journey down his arms until they met his fingers. Like an instinct, his laced between hers.

One look from his exposed face let an ounce of bravery peek through her fear. The raw vulnerability around his eyes as they watched her carefully, lips parted, hair fallen from his precise style. Everything about him was so un-like himself that Hermione felt there was another wizard under him entirely. 

Another wizard she needed.

“Mine,” she muttered. “Mine.”

His eyes flickered up from their clasped hands. She thought he might speak. This was Draco Malfoy she was with. There wasn’t a moment he hadn’t ruined with his mouth. However, a dark shadow crossed his eyes as he nodded. 

That damnable Slytherin pride. He would admit it, just as he made her do.

She’d enjoy it just as much, too.

Their hands raised up in front of her lips. She kissed each of his knuckles as delicate as a piece of glass. All the while, she watched his eyes follow her lips along every knuckle, gentle caress of her pouty bottom lip against his thumb. 

He gulped.

Hermione swallowed back her grin. “I want to hear it from you. Tell me that I own _the_ Draco Malfoy in all his resounding glory.”

“Don’t joke,” he said sharply.

Tension clamped his fingers tight together. 

She lowered her gaze and answered softly, “I wasn’t.”

“I am not some honorable wizard, Granger, so don’t delude yourself.”

“I’m not,” she said. She raised her other hand, hesitant to touch his face, but he allowed her to run her fingers down the sharp edge of his jawbone down to his slender neck. “All I see is you, Draco. That’s all.”

“Not some project you need to fix,” he added vehemently.

“As if anyone could succeed anyway,” she said in gentle humor. “You’re much too stubborn, which is how you’ve ended up in my bed, and isn’t that what it’s all about in the first place?”

He bent down and pressed his lips against hers in the softest, touching embrace as his free hand cupped the back of her neck. She felt all the desperation in his kiss as it deepened. He poured so much emotion into it that she was overwhelmed by the sheer force of it.

Draco Malfoy was susceptible to something other than nastiness.

All the while their clasped hands stayed knitted between their chests as they kissed and kissed again. 

It was her most favorite kiss she’d ever experienced in her life. 

His eyes closed when he withdrew. “All yours. I swear to it.”

When his eyes finally opened, Hermione felt lost in the honesty there. Such need. A need she felt buried somewhere inside her own mind as she pulled him close for another long kiss, one that she never wished to end.

A familiar swirl of magic swept over as she tangled herself against his chest, arms behind his neck as he pulled her flush against himself. The hungry pull to have her against him shot waves of pleasure down to her hot core. He was everything she wanted. Lost in passion and need, he didn’t consider everything wrong with what they did. Malfoy did as he pleased. He led himself down a path of want without a thought of what others thought or expected. A small piece envied him for that.

If only she could be that way.

His lips were at her neck. “Hermione.”

The heavenly hum of his voice. She could get used to it. 

“All mine, right? You’re all mine.”

A faint smile ghosted across her lips. “Only yours.”

Passion was ignited between the pair of them once more. They tore at the rest of Draco’s school robes with newfound vigor. That was, until a gentle creak of her suite door broke through the clouded air.

“Heard you were – whoa! Naked Malfoy. With Hermione. What a shock!” Ginny tried her best to be surprised. The tone was hardly convincing.

Draco growled as he pulled away from Hermione in favor of cover. Wand, somehow, not abandoned in their zealous embrace. He summoned up a fresh robe for Hermione to wear. The look on his face was anything but pleased. 

It was difficult to stop once started. Even she was a bit frustrated by the burn of her loins being untouched.

“Nice try, Gin. You waited to walk in on us, didn’t you?” Hermione tied the rope around her waist tightly. She’d forgotten that her school robes were in a heap on the floor. Not that Ginny would believe it was for a bath, not hopping on ‘the white dragon’. 

“I might have noticed _someone_ in the halls looking way too happy to be here,” Ginny commented with a devious grin in Malfoy’s direction. “You really ought to ward the room so that we’re all spared from your screams of ecstasy.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “We hadn’t even gotten to that part yet.”

“Ah, a girl can dream. Even if it is for a friend whose been a total nutjob since she got laid.”

This piqued a bit of interest in someone who she hadn’t wanted to know. Malfoy raised to his elbow. Ears almost pricked up with anticipation. 

“What was that, Weasley?” He asked. 

Ginny was more than happy to place a hand on her hip and rat out her friend despite the numerous pleads to refrain. “Well, despite all it’s wonderous, soul-shattering pleasure, your dick gave Hermione an urge to give me a verbal lashing because I had the decency to compliment your performance. Which, by the way Malfoy, congrats on. You really should hold a class. The entire school would thank you.”

He slid into his trousers with his trademark smirk. “A bit of jealousy, was it?”

There was no place to hide her blush from the pair. Hermione did her best to duck away, but Malfoy pulled her close against his chest with a soft snicker.

“I’ve only just seen you naked, but please, be shy over that.” He toyed with her curls. “It’s sweet, really. I have been known to turn girls on edge afterward. No one else ever compares. Feel sorry for them really, only knowing a wizard like me once.”

“Tell me about it,” Ginny muttered.

Her mouth fell open. “Ginerva, watch your tongue. That is my best mate you’re complaining about and also, ew. I did not want to know.”

She turned back to Malfoy. “Don’t even start bragging about your string of broken hearts. It’s hardly appealing.”

“It’s not like you don’t have one either, Mione. Krum still hasn’t gotten the message and it’s been years.”

It was apparent that Ginny did not witness the tight grip on Hermione’s waist when the wizard’s name was mentioned, nor the sharp click of Draco’s jaw set together. Whatever it was about Krum, Draco did not like. 

Probably an alpha male thing. Like werewolves. Can’t have the same territory. 

“Oh?” Malfoy’s tone was forced, playful and furious.

Still oblivious, Gin nodded. “Yeah. She even slept with the guy because she felt so bad. She hasn’t told you? Ah, well. Cats out the bag now. I better go and let you guys get to it. Whatever it is.” She winked. “Ciao.”

The door hadn’t even clicked shut when Malfoy had Hermione’s wrist in his hand. “And just when were you going to mention this?”

“The minute it became relevant.”

“How the hell isn’t it relevant?”

Hermione tried to pry her hand away so that she could cross her arms across her chest, a habit that was almost second nature. Draco’s grip, however, was stronger. He kept her close, against the wall, where his eyes could meet hers without escape. 

She met his glare with as much anger she could muster. “I didn’t demand your list of conquests.”

“My conquests aren’t still in love with me,” he growled. “They aren’t going to try to stop our wedding with their undying love like that sap, Krum!”

Hermione felt slighted. “Yeah, Viktor would come bearing flowers and his heart, not just his cock and a hope that I slip up. More than I can say for your suitors.”

“What better way to steal you away from me?” Draco’s scowl cut thick lines down his face. He was beyond the realm of anger. It was hurt. There was a darkened shadow through him at just the mention of her being away from him. Magic radiated throughout his tips. She felt it leech to her skin through his grip. 

Clearly, she hadn’t realized just how important it was to him. If she allowed herself to ponder all the witches that Malfoy tempted to bed, she’d probably be outrageous too. It wasn’t fair to share. 

“If I wanted to be with Viktor, I’d be with him. Believe me, there is nothing he can offer that he hasn’t already,” she explained. “I’m here with you right now, aren’t I? You’re here and he isn’t.”

The logic seeped in, at least a bit. He dropped his hold on her with a nod. In agreement? She wasn’t sure. But it was the best she was going to get, she felt. Malfoy was not one to share. He made a point of that. Many times. 

There was a pause. Each was uncertain how to continue. They’d just become so close and so distant in the same manner of an hour. 

“Shit.” Draco held his wand. “It’s almost time for lunch.”

He sighed and ran a finger through the surprising length of his hair. “Let’s get dressed and head down.”

“Together?” Her eyes bulged. 

“Is that a problem?”

She hurried toward her school robes, intent not to enrage him with more insults to his sensitive pride. There would be plenty of time for that later on when she was more comfortable traversing his moods.

He waited patiently as she scrambled around trying to appear as if she hadn’t just been trapped in a snog session with Draco Malfoy. It amused him. More than once, he chuckled when she tried to tame her curls. The worry was obvious. Her bottom lip was chewed to nothing as she pulled at the brown strands. She just knew they looked like sex hair. 

Suddenly, his lengthy body was in the mirror. “They look fine. No one is going to guess what you’ve been up to.”

“You don’t know that,” she answered. It was difficult not to sound panicked when that’s all she felt. “McGonagall can sense anything. She’s like a…a Veritaserum cat or something. She’ll smell it on me. I just know she will.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Draco scoffed.

Hermione pulled at the frayed ends. It was all over the place! None of it looked right. It wasn’t her. It was just a romp-in-the-sack head of hair. Everyone would know. They’d see it on her like a giant sign, ‘Hermione, the slag.’

“No, no, no,” she whimpered with water flooded in her eyes. 

“Seriously, Hermione, stop.”

What would they all say if they saw her now? They’d point their fingers. Laugh. Tease her for choices that didn’t make sense to them. Odd one out, like always. 

She pulled at the strands harder and harder. Every swipe made the curls frizzy and full, the exact opposite of what she wanted.

It was near the point of total breakdown where she’d tear out every last strand and scream until her lungs burst from exertion when she was grabbed by the shoulders, spun around, and held in place by a pair of steady grey eyes. They kept still. Mimicked every movement of hers until breath felt normal, a steady pulse through her. Weight on her shoulders mounted her to the floor. The fear didn’t feel so strong. There was only the here and now.

With him.

“Listen. You are going to go down to the Great Hall with me. You’ll keep your head high and not listen to a single person otherwise.” His voice was a command of confidence she didn’t think she had. Her eyes fell low; she started to chew her lip aimlessly. “No. Hey! Look at me. There is no equal to you in this school. None of them even hold a fuckin’ candle to all you’ve done. Much less anyone you have to answer to. They should all bow down at your feet and beg for forgiveness for anything they’ve done against you.”

She half-smiled. He had just complimented her in the most profound way that she wasn’t even sure he knew what he said or just how beautiful it was.

“Just like you do, right?” She giggled.

He responded with a kiss on her forehead. “They get off easy. I’ve got to work off my forgiveness.”

She thought of a witty remark that must have shown on her face because he was quick to push a finger against her lips. “Not that I’m complaining.”

They marched down to the Great Hall together, careful not to remain too close, but also close enough that no one would take it as an invitation to swirl in and whisk Hermione away. She knew that was the point of him being so close. Once or twice he even pulled at the edges of her robe whenever another wizard walked toward them.

It felt sweet to be so protected but frustrating at his lack of trust, too. She boggled her mind about it all the meal as he ate like nothing was changed with the world as his left hand was attached to the top of her knee like she was going to run away. 

She guessed it had to do with his frustration with Krum that kept him so focused on keeping her close, but when it turned out that every meal was held in the same fashion, she figured it was just the way he was. 

He wasn’t exactly known for being very dedicated; everyone knew Draco Malfoy loved Draco Malfoy the most. However, what Hermione remembered from the war and his trial, it was clear that those he was attached to held his loyalty more than anything. It was why he joined Voldemort in the first place. Otherwise his mother would have been killed.

There was a strange sadness to the reality of it. The ones he loved the most were the ones that kept him in eternal pain. His father’s allegiance put a dark tattoo on his arm that would never fade. Threats of his mother’s life made him on edge and watchful for any threat that might pop up at a moment’s notice. Even thought the war had ended, and all was well.

It became clear when Hermione was never seen without Malfoy near that something was going on. Peers started to notice. No one asked directly. Reformed or not, he wasn’t that approachable.

Ginny made her share of passive aggressive remarks about it, much to Hermione’s dismay. She’d jabbed a giant sausage with her fork, raised it to her lips, and asked Malfoy how he was. It took every ounce of humanity to keep Hermione from bursting aflame with mortification. 

She promptly raised from her seat, grabbed hold of Ginny with both hands and drug her out of the hall. 

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Hermione asked, almost hysterical. 

Ginny chuckled. “I didn’t do anything. Not polite to ignore my friend’s shag friend.”

“Good Godric, Gin. You’re lucky I didn’t pass out.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just a bit of fun. I bet Malfoy thinks it’s funny.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately, you two are too similar for me not to be inclined to agree with you. But still. Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

They both fell into step. Hermione was set on the library, and it was not to hard to tell that her friend knew exactly where. She even started to lead as they trekked through the halls. 

When they pulled up to a dusty little table in a dark corner, Ginny was able to exhale. “So what’s the hold up already? Is Malfoy in denial about things? He can’t just shag you into the heavens without some kind of promise. I mean, not even one fight with Krum over your honor yet? Malfoy is failing poorly in my opinion.”

The witch was by no means discreet. Her voice was loud enough for the late headmaster to hear.

“Oh, hush you. Before everyone in the castle knows,” Hermione snipped. A few eyes raised at the outburst, even more surprised to find the source of it to be her. Once the calm settled back and the two were forgotten in their corner, they were able to start again. “It’s not like he doesn’t want to be exclusive. We most definitely are in every way, shape and form.”

The red-head shrugged her shoulders. “So, what’s the hold up?”

It was almost awe-inspiring how it wasn’t obvious. 

“What will people think, of course. Death Eater and me, together? They won’t trust me,” she whispered. “Everyone will question whether I was truly light or not. Malfoy was in the high ranks of Voldemort. That can’t be overlooked. Spies were everywhere during the war. Why couldn’t I be one too?”

“You’ve got to be -.” 

“Miss Granger!” A shrill voice came through the conversation. Silence fell between the two girls immediately as the elderly librarian walked forward, another one of her dusty paperback novels in hand. _Drawn._ It sounded like a crummy romance novel. 

Hermione stumbled over coherent thoughts. “Uh, well, yes? Madame Pince?”

It did not prompt the woman to move faster. Ginny shot a frustrated look. She was always more interested in social issues than any kind of news that a librarian would bring. She complained of Hermione’s dedication to reading often, since conversations most often steered toward something new learned in an ancient text rather than what gossip she knew. In fact, the drama of the Malfoy affair had brought them closer together than they’d ever been.

“I have found the book you requested,” the woman replied shortly.

Requested? She didn’t ask for any new book.

“Think you have me confused, Madame. I’ve not asked for any books.”

A horrid look crossed the woman’s face. “I will not be made a fool of, Miss Granger. This book was located precisely by your request.”

The paperback was in the trembling, outstretched hand. Hermione took in hesitantly. _Drawn._ Ugh. Fiction was not her thing.

“There must be some mistake,” Hermione breathed in quite disbelief. She’d known the librarian for years. On a very personal level. How could the woman misremember something like that?

Troubled and not very much interested in the young girl’s excuses. She hobbled away to her desk where a steaming cup of tea waited.

It was small with a leather binding and cover to match. The letters were etched in a curled lettering of shiny silver. By the scent of the thing, it was old. Very old. The age-stained pages inside were clue to that. It was by all means a beautiful book, just not one that she wanted. Hermione grasped it tightly and murmured something incoherent. 

“Oh enough about the book!” Ginny grabbed the book and threw it into Hermione’s bag. “I want to talk about you and Malfoy.”

She tried to push the encounter from her mind. “Well like I’ve told you. There isn’t much hope for us is there?”

“That prat doesn’t think the same thing, too, does he?” A sudden look of rage rose along with the tip of her wand. “He just wants a bat-bogey hex. And I thought all our days of fun in the halls were done with.”

“Goodness sake, Ginny. Put that down. _He_ is surprisingly optimistic. Says it doesn’t matter what other people think of us. We should just do what we want.”

Ginny was delighted. “What a relief. The wizard’s right. For once. You should do what you want.”

“But Ginny - .”

“Don’t _‘But Ginnnnnny’_ me. You make up all these excuses all the time, Hermione. It’s like you purposely make your life harder.” She wagged her finger at her friend. “If you ask me, Malfoy might just be the best thing for you.”

Hermione gasped. That was unexpected.

Malfoy, good? I mean, he was good for her body, and tension, and she really liked having someone extremely intelligent around who was even more encouraged by her mind rather than insufficient. Even if he was a bit sarcastic. And never took anything seriously. Plus, he loved to say things to annoy her. It was a tic of his or something.

“Even if all this is true – big _if_ with that, by the way – that doesn’t mean anything,” Hermione revealed with a shake of her head. “I could never tell Harry and Ron.”

“Why not?”

Hermione lifted a brow. “Ronald will never come clean. And until he does, I can’t date anyone or else I look like a cheater.”

Ginny exhaled sharply. “It’s been long enough, don’t you think? Harry will be fine with it. Ron’s just worried about nothing.”

“It’s his best friend. Of course, he’s worried.”

“But at the expense of your happiness,” Ginny pointed out. “It isn’t right of Ron to ask that of you.”

There was a collection of noise all at once that alerted the girls to the shift in time. Their next lesson was starting soon. Hermione had herbology. Ginny had to make her way down to the dungeons for potions with Slughorn, which she usually enjoyed, but the conversation at hand was more stimulating than anything she could brew up in class.

Hermione gathered up her things, dead set on not being nearly tardy to another class when Ginny Weasley grabbed her hand in a familiar way that was soft and kind. “Ask Ron to come clean. Beg him if you must, but you don’t want to screw this up with Malfoy.”

She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Really? You think it’s that serious?”

“Hell right I do. Can’t throw the best sex of your life away for anything, even if a bit of societal uproot comes along with it.” Ginny grinned in a way that almost resembled a Slytherin. “Good dick is a gift. Cherish it.”


	7. Others

### Others

Hermione was one of the first few to arrive in the greenhouses. Brilliant afternoon light shined in through the glass windows in a slowly disappearing sun. Soon enough, October would bring frosted nights and weather only fit for a densely furred beaver. Snow, too. It would come in the blink of an eye. Against a Scottish winter wind, a warming charm did little to protect from their sting needy pull that tried to push people over if they were in an open space. 

It was the last time she was going to wear a skirt. The castle was too cold for it anymore. Her kneecaps were a blueish purple as she stood waiting for her other classmates. 

Theo Nott strolled through the doors first. He greeted her with a polite smile as he walked back to his desk. 

Susan and Padma walked in together, lost in a chat. Neither noticed Hermione standing there with a hopeful look on her face. Some interaction. She needed someone new to take her mind off the mess of her life. 

The last thing she needed to remember was that she was not in control of herself. In fact, she was almost incredibly sure she was cursed to do the bidding of another wizard’s wishing. Like a being of stronger magic operated her limbs back to his arms, pleased with his scent and eager to return any pleasure right back.

Her latest stunt was a series of Malfoy and her in compromising positions that were not Ministry approved. Catching him off guard with a good suck was much more thrilling than she’d been led to believe from Ginny. She enjoyed the way he squirmed as she zipped down his fly, licking her lips. He grew tight at the mere slap of her tongue. 

No, Hermione, no. Don’t think about him during class. Dribbling on the dirt floor of the green house would be far more mortifying than anything she could imagine. 

She took a deep breath and focused back to the task at hand. The earthy scent of dirt, growing life all around. A few insects buzzed. One flew over her ear. So close, she thought it’d flown into her ear.  
Hermione shook her head. Something else. Something not terrifying.

In her head, she started to draft the letter to Ron. There was little chance she’d send it, but she wanted it perfectly composed if it was needed. 

It was drafted to her liking when the last of the students walked in and class began. Most of it was lecture, and an assignment of scroll due by the next class. It was easily done. Hermione had half of it scripted in mind before she’d picked up her quill. 

Neville’s face grew longer the more he looked down at the assignment. The puffy pink of his lips fell exceptionally far from his mouth. So disappointed. He was like that on non-hands-on days. Not that he was permitted to tend to the plants any time he wanted. Just about every plant in the greenhouse had had Neville’s undivided attention for a bit. 

Still, his despair was clear. 

Hermione touched his hand with sympathy. “At least you’ve still got your side project.”

A shrill lightheaded rush gave her a slight stirring nausea. She forced herself to smile at her friend and proceed through.

“Yeah, you’re right.” The wizard turned back down to his work.

They both worked silently for the rest of the class completely focused on their scrolls. The scratching of quills against parchment was the only sound throughout the greenhouses, apart from the occasional startling screech of a Mandrake cries from a greenhouse nearby. Older students and all experienced with Mandrakes, they kept to their work without an upward glance. 

Professor Sprout dismissed the class to the rest of their day with a flourish of her wand. Pink buds of flowers suddenly bloomed wide, giving a beautiful exit out to the cooler winds of the Hogwarts grounds. 

Wind swirled in healthy spurts of cold, clear air. One deep inhale ignited the lungs with a renown joy for the taste of trees, the smell of grass, wet of the lake and ancient stone that surrounded every student in fresh draft. Numb bites against bare flesh held no candle to the lovely feel of fresh country air inside. At least, some didn’t seem to mind.

Most students jogged ahead, eager to enter a warm threshold and thus feeling thawed again. The last of the them was a caramel-haired woman whom enjoyed the walk in the open outside. Still, her shivering legs forced her back to the castle.

Hermione was set on the eighth-year common room. She had to study. It was the only time that Draco liked to linger around the castle with his friends rather than be with her, meaning it was the best opportunity to get quality studying done. 

Not to say Draco and her were not dedicated to their studies. He was much better about keeping up with school work than Ron and Harry. However, there was the distraction of each other that led them into small snog sessions between assignments. He’d read over her shoulder, knowing just how suddenly focused she’d be on him, not the words, and would slowly run his tongue down the side of her throat. 

She did her fair share of sabotage, too, when she wanted his attention. His focus on his studies was impressive. The entire world was shut out as he worked hard, reading and writing and practicing. It became much of the feeling that she was the third wheel as she was in Harry and Ron’s old schemes around the castle. Left out and forgotten. 

To take her revenge, she’d yawn loudly. Her arms stretched above her head and her shirt rose up with them. The pale flesh would suddenly capture his eye from his books. He’d stare as she stretched and moaned, seemingly unaware of just how alluring it made her. It would be the time she’d also strip of her outer robes, remarking it was too hot. Draco would stare back down like he hadn’t noticed until she settled again. Then, to tease him further, she would undo her braids. They’d shake out to a fuzzy mass of brown curls, which drove him crazy. 

It took not even a minute for him to part from his work to steal a kiss, or a grope.

As Hermione walked down the halls, she noticed a rushing sound of feet behind her. She turned, ready to chastise Draco for sabotaging her grades, just as a large black figure collided with her. It fell on top of her as they crashed to the floor. A boney elbow crushed her thigh. 

“Oh,” she groaned. 

The weight on her stomach felt almost to the point of bone crushing. 

“Oh my – oh dear. I’m sorry, Hermione.”

Surprised, Hermione looked up and saw the black figure was none other than Terry Boot.

“Terry?” She gasped, unable to hold her shock.

The wizard scrambled to his feet and reached out a hand for her. “I was looking for you. Thought you’d already made it to the tower.”

He helped her up to her feet. She shook out her robes from the dirt of the floor, cross that she’d have to change clothes before she could start studying. There were smudges. Smears of dust down the backside where she’d landed. Of course, the tear was no problem. Easily rectified by a reparo spell. 

“Interesting,” the wizard commented.

“Hardly,” Hermione said as she brushed off the larger bits of debris. “Students walk in and out of here all day long. Doubt any spell can keep it clean one hundred percent of the time.”

Terry snorted in a high pitch. “Do you realize what you just did?”

“Fell down?”

“You just touched my bare hand and didn’t vomit,” he stated clearly. 

That stopped her short. 

Only Malfoy had been able to touch her bare skin without her getting sick. Did it mean that she and Terry were like her and Malfoy? Oh, Merlin. He’d be furious. Hermione retracted away from the wizard, uncertain how he’d interpret the information, and she was in no way interested in starting any kind of relationship with Terry. One wizard was enough to handle. Despite it all, she kind of preferred Malfoy. A bit. 

“You touched Neville’s hand, too.”

What? “I don’t think so.”

Terry nodded. “I saw. In Herbology. You held Neville’s bare hand for more than five seconds. No fits, no gags.”

She did remember that. In the moment, she hadn’t even thought of the action making her sick. It’d been two weeks since she’d fallen to the floor in fit of dry heaving. 

Her breaths fell rapidly on her chest. “What’s it mean? Am I getting better?”

The wizard shrugged. “Perhaps. Did you feel anything when you touched him?”

“I – I – I don’t remember. I didn’t even think about it.” Hermione struggled to remember either encounter. 

“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

She did not like the suggestive tone, but she knew what it meant. She had to touch Terry again. Hermione swallowed. Malfoy would not like it. Touching another person was personal. Even she was inclined to agree with that. She didn’t touch other people commonly. It was only her friends, and never for a lingering moment. That felt odd.

But, what would happen if she didn’t know? It was a mystery why she’d become overwhelmed with a severe magical illness and yet recover completely without treatment. All of it was nonsensical. 

Hermione took hold of Terry’s wrist with two fingers, like she didn’t want to touch him more than she had to, which was partial truth. She didn’t.

“I feel nauseous,” she finally announced. “Lightheaded, like I might want to throw up. Not like I was before, but it’s still there. Duller, though. Not so urgent.”

Her fingers dropped his wrist the next instant.

“Interesting,” the wizard commented again. “I wonder…”

“What?”

“How far along are you in your menstrual cycle? That runs on a four-week time frame, does it not?”

Hermione suddenly blanched. Her period? He just asked her about her cycle without a side ways glance or uncomfortable shift in his gait. Straight forward. So personal. An entire line of civility passed.

A hot rash spread down her cheeks to the back of her neck. “I should be going. Bye, Terry.”

She ran back to her suite, and slammed the door shut before he could have any other ideas of questions to ask. The door was warded, too. Just in case. A Ravenclaws need for information was known for persistence and tenacity. 

Traits Malfoy also shared. Hermione snorted at the very implication that Draco Malfoy would wear a blue tie in any part of the castle as a Ravenclaw. Malfoy’s were only ever green. Green for their reptile.

The soiled robes were discarded to the hamper and a fresh pair of track suit bottoms and a tank top replaced it. She felt rather uncomfortable, considering that Terry Boot had been able to theorize she was nearing the start of her period like a god damn blood hound. A few bottles of hot water were placed against her abdomen under a towel as she read through her books.

It was nearly two hours of uninterrupted studying. A miracle by her standards. If it’d been a previous year, she would have been interrupted at least ten times, over half from Ron and Harry, and she would have never been able to study ahead more than a few chapters. 

She’d just refreshed the heat of her water bottles when a self-righteous knock came against the door. It was one of two people, and Ginny never knocked. She barged right in with the hopes of witnessing something exciting. 

A wave of a wand dispelled the notion that she’d have to leave her comfort to allow him in.

Malfoy entered. There was always the moment of awe in her mind as she watched the sexy wizard swagger near her. The beating in her chest tripled. She loved the way he looked dressed down. Outside of school roves, he mostly wore black. This time, it was gray. Gray trousers with his usual white shirt. The cuffs of his shirt were rolled up; all the taut muscled flesh of his biceps exposed. Of course, her eyes were almost instantly drawn to his belt line. It was a light brown to match the shoes he wore. But it stuck out to her as odd. Since when did he abandon black?

Her eyes snapped back to her book, hopeful that he hadn’t noticed the clear lust in her expression. She didn’t breathe until he tossed his bookbag on the bed and glided up to the other side. 

“How goes the studying?” He asked with a notable cheer in his voice.

That was curious.

Hermione gawked before she answered. “It goes. What have you been up to?”

“A bunch of us went to Hogsmeade,” he replied, but left out the part that explained his bubbly behavior and his smile.

She turned back to her books, scanning through the last few bits that she would read sometime later before bed. If Malfoy was in any condition to let her read, that was. Often he liked to linger until just before they were both completely passed out from exhaustion.

No time for studying then, was there?

“Had a few, didn’t you?”

There was a lazy smile on his face as he pressed a kiss against her cheek. “I might’ve.”

“I have to go to the library to speak to the tutors after supper.” It was her duty as Head Girl to ensure that all Prefects, and thus tutors appointed by Prefects, did their jobs. There were brilliant Prefects this term. She had so few issues that required her intervention. “Just so you know.”

“Will I see you tonight?” 

She shook her head. “Probably not. It’ll be late before I turn in.”

“How late?” He asked.

Apparently buzzed Malfoy was not completely unlike the regular, protective Malfoy. 

Hermione sighed. She shoved her study materials inside her knapsack, frustrated when the little black book got in their way. Stupid thing. It wasn’t even for her, and she carried it around like she was one of those girls who did. 

“Curfew, most probably.” Then clicked an idea. “Here. This will keep you company tonight.”

“What is it?” His nose wrinkled.

“Just a bit of fun reading. You’ll love it.”

Malfoy eyed it suspiciously, but ultimately kept it in his grasp. He held it against himself as he watched her closely, which she ignored to the best of her ability. There was something about his eyes that sent thrill to her small, devilish parts. 

“I’ll wait for you tonight.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to.”

“I’m a Malfoy. I don’t _have_ to do anything.” He grabbed hold of her hand. “But I will.”

She liked the way he smiled when he drank. There was an unabashed way he left his face so open, the happiness or joy so clear. A shimmer cut through his eyes in a warm splendor. Not a common sight at all. The allure bled out all worries she’d been preoccupied with only moments before: changing for supper, cleaning up her suite, kicking him out before any of their peers got suspicious. 

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best?” She smiled as their fingers laced together in a tight knot.

She loved to stare at their hands together, bits and pieces of themselves entwined in the other person like a missing link finally joined at the right spot of the chainmail.

Malfoy’s glittering eyes danced in their sockets. “Not yet. It’s starting to wear on my ego.”

Smart ass.

“Always have an answer for everything, don’t you?” She snickered. “Can’t leave nice things be.”

Hands pulled at her. She yelped out as she was wrapped in a tight embrace. A hot air of cinnamon inside her lungs as she was curled against him. He, content to pass out in pure bliss, tucked his body right against hers. 

“If you’re referring to you, then no, I cannot leave nice things be,” he muttered against her neck. “You, Hermione Granger, are all mine.”

Warm breath hit the back of her neck so sweetly that the next moment, Hermione felt the dull seepage of tingles throughout her body. It hardly ravished her as it had just last week, but she was still enticed by the feeling. Until she remembered that they hadn’t the time. Their peers would be back to ready themselves for the Great Hall, and he couldn’t be seen leaving her room. 

She tried to push away. “And _you’re_ drunk.”

Malfoy’s arms locked in place against her struggle. His grey eyes opened, albeit lazily. 

“Come on. Just say it. You’re all mine, forbade to all others. Bound to only me, unable to touch - .” 

“I touched Terry today,” she blurted.

The fact that she’d announced it during his cute – although _totally_ wasted – rambling was a mere exercise of what little power she had left over him. He knew every way in which she’d cave. She let her urges control her body back to him time and time again, no matter how much she knew it was bad for her reputation. It hurt, too. Just knowing that if – or when – she was discovered, her life would end.

All the pride and example she set for everyone, gone. 

Malfoy apparently interpreted it differently. The hardened mask he wore for such topics dropped; whiskey made it hard for it to keep. His eyes widened. A startled gasp erupted out his throat. Hermione panicked, thinking he was going to retch all over her, when his release suddenly dropped her out of their hug.

“Touch him how? T- t – touched him why?”

One of his hands hadn’t given up the fight. It held onto her hand laced through fingers. She was anchored to him for the moment, unable to escape his line of questioning.

She forced a faint smile. “I might be healed. Not sick anymore, I mean. Not that I was sick, but something was wrong with me.”

“Why would you touch Terry when…you’re all mine?”

“It was just to see,” she answered quietly.

His lips sloped to a sharp scowl. “See what? If you’re able to shag him as well? If you’ve got other options other than me?”

His accusation was not unexpected. Malfoy was full of moods. They changed like the course of the wind as it moved over empty plains. She was ready to deal with his minor jealousy, but something in his tone wasn’t right. The venom wasn’t at her. 

“Malfoy,” she said, demanding his gaze once more. “There is nothing, absolutely nothing that I want from Terry Boot. Especially not for a shag partner.”

His nose wrinkled. “Are you sure? He is one of those light wizards you love so much.”

Self pity. That was very typical of him.

“You were light, too, if you don’t recall.”

His body twitched. There was motion in his feet, his legs. Their interlaced fingers fell away as he pulled away. Her heart fell when he rose up from the bed.

He was leaving. Leaving her.

What else was new? Everyone did it. She was found unsatisfactory for one reason or another, like an animal easily given away or forgotten. It was the story of her life. Common enough. She knew the burn of rejection well enough, but this time, it hurt far more than she wanted it to. 

She swallowed back her tears. Monthly hormones. They always induced tears like a waterfall.

“What now then?” Her voice was awful. It was the horrid croak of a frog.

Malfoy stood where he’d raised, frozen in place. Silent. 

Really? Not a word when he was breaking up with her? Not a single bleeding word? She’d been the one to put everything on the line for their shagging. 

But that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Just shagging.

Her imagination had gotten the best of her. A romance created in her own delusion that shagging meant more than just, a good romp in the sack for the thrill of it. That he was more than what he seemed.

Oh honestly, this was always the deal. She couldn’t suddenly be angry at the change, right? It wasn’t her right.

“I need to see Pansy,” he said suddenly. 

That was a slap in the face. Her magic roared with an anger like she never felt. 

He was going to leave her…for Pansy Parkinson?

“Go then,” she said crossing her arms across her chest in all hopes that he wouldn’t see the trembling of her torso as she bit back anger and hurt. “Don’t let me stop you.”

The blank slate of his face was more bewildering. It was entirely wiped clean. Empty. Not even a bit of a sneer nor pleasure nor pain. Pale, smooth, unmarked with anything as he walked by toward the door. 

Hermione was perched and ready to scream at him as he passed when he, just as suddenly, placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

“See you later, Granger,” he mumbled softly.

That was their parting. The end. Completion of the affair of the century. Finishing of the most wild, insatiable guilty pleasure she ever partook. A conclusion she wasn’t prepared for.

She remained bewildered, fallen into old routines that required no thought as she dressed in her school robes and proceeded down to the Great Hall where few students had gathered yet. It was still early. Yet she hadn’t a single place to go where she’d find solace and peace in what confusion she found herself. 

Malfoy was vexing, eternal. 

He behaved one way, then another. The changing of the wind, the crashing of sea waves, strong as dragon’s scales and stubborn as, well, a Malfoy. Every piece of him intensely impacted by the other. Hidden and watchful. There were layers upon layers on himself that she could not fathom. 

Time together made her believe in goodness in him. His work during the war was only the start. He’d been so kind to her. Gentle, protective and surprisingly loyal to her even with no promise of relationship. Hermione grappled reality with a certain disbelief.

He wanted her all to himself. Never gave one hint of his boredom or lack of excitement. Their time together rolled on repeat as she thought back over everything. The drunken beginning, to the reckless choice to keep coming back, to the actual missing of him when he went away. 

And it wasn’t one sided. At least, she didn’t feel it was. He’d cradle her until his eyes wouldn’t will themselves to open again. Every evening into late night, that was where he was. Not with his friends. Not with other girls. 

Her. It was always with her.

So, what the hell was the problem?

Hermione rubbed her eyes until they burned. The stability of Hogwarts was proving a bit upsetting. If it wasn’t the constant fear of being murdered by an evil usurper, it was agony from an extremely bipolar wizard. 

“God, if only I knew what he wanted,” she muttered to herself. 

“Could always use a Flaggerwomp,” a voice answered back. “If it is truth you search for.”

Hermione gasped, unaware of just how close the voice was. “A what?”

The Great Hall remained quiet with few inside of it, studying or reading. There were some who sipped pumpkin juice as they waited alone. Students were bound to start pouring in soon enough. Classes were dismissed not long ago. Hordes of students would flood in through the open doors like a sea of faces ready to loose her in their waves, just another person whisked along by the current of a moving world with no footing. 

She had to prepare herself for it, because there wasn’t a single thing that made her want to face others in the state she was in. 

All over Draco Malfoy!

Perhaps waiting in the library was better. She’d meet the tutors one by one as they came and speak directly, skipping all the awkward looks over supper as she struggled not to openly hex Malfoy with his side piece.

“Flaggerwomp. Like I told you, they show a person’s true intentions,” Luna explained with an airy smile as she poured herself a goblet of juice.

Oh right. The made-up creature that Luna always spoke of.

“Wasn’t your mother hurt by one of them?”

The blonde witch shook her head. “Oh, no. Not one. Seven.”

“Seven?” Hermione repeated in disbelief.

“My father was very nervous,” Luna added, as if it explained such a gross neglect of personal trust. “The jar broke and they all latched on. I could get you one if you like. Best to wear gloves, remember. I know where they like to hide.”

Two girls walked in the Hall, giggling loudly as they passed. Hermione blushed, aware of just how desperate she must sound. If heard.

“That’s very generous, Luna, thank you but I - .”

“Happy to help,” the witch answered as she climbed to her feet. “I must go now. Moaning Myrtle owes me one Gullypop.”

Gullypop? What the hell was that?

“Hermione Granger!”

Her name echoed around the room as eyes closed in on her from all around. Ten shades of red coated her cheeks as she glared at the Slytherin witch with a death wish. Lucky Malfoy wasn’t there to witness her shame yet again.

It was becoming quite the common occurrence at Hogwarts, which she detested. 

“Oi! What are you all looking at?” The voice shrieked. “That’s right. Go back to your business!”

Fearful of what Pansy might do, the students turned back to their empty tables with interest. 

“Hermione,” the witch said again, softer this time.

Pansy wore a green zip-up jumper dazzled in black sequins off the shoulders. Her black locks hung limply at her sides, littered with little braids and green bows. It was very innocent for Slytherin, especially for Pansy Parkinson. 

Hermione scooted over so that there was room for Pansy to sit. “Hello, Pansy. You’re awfully chipper.”

There was an ounce of suspicion in Pansy’s entire demeanor change. She was not one to be adorned with brains and ribbons, nor to look unworthy of a photo shoot at any given moment. The ashy complexion only gave way to the sickly look that the witch radiated.

Malfoy must have already found her. They were together again. They’d already shagged, no doubt. That was the explanation in the lapse of personal appearance.

The realization turned Hermione to stone.

“I’ve only just taken four Pepper-up potions,” Pansy announced.

She sat down beside the witch. Clearly she couldn’t read when she wasn’t wanted; the frown on Hermione’s face was not entirely welcoming. In fact, it was down right terrifying in a way that only a Slytherin wouldn’t notice as threatening.

She flipped her long hair over her shoulder and Transfigured a cup of coffee instead of tea. Her wand clattered against the table as she double-handed the cup with surprising vigor. Hermione’s eyes bulged as the witch gulped the entire thing down.

“I haven’t slept more than three hours for weeks,” she said. “This damn holiday has got me up all hours.”

Hermione sputtered. “The holiday?”

Malfoy was able to keep her up for hours at night, but Pansy was more focused on a holiday than a good shagging? That was illogical. Hermione couldn’t put an ounce of focus on anything if she burned for him. Just the same, he couldn’t keep his needy hands off of her. The way he embraced her tight…

Whoa. She needed to stop. Malfoy left her, remember? He left her for this _witch_.

Pansy downed two more cups of coffee before she settled in her seat. Bloodshot eyes beheld Hermione gently.

“I’ve had to track down so many liaisons.” Her forehead rested on her palm. “They contact me at all hours of the night. Don’t they know a witch needs her beauty sleep?”

“Liaisons, in what way?”

That was interesting. A shagging holiday hardly required contacts in other countries. But this was Parkinson they were speaking of. Who knew what she was capable of? It was Pansy, queen of Slytherin!

Pansy yawned loudly, covered her mouth in surprise and groaned, “Oh my Salazar. I’m going to kill Blaise. His owl stayed for hours last night until I wrote a reply. Damn fiend. Between his bloody owl and Malfoy, I don’t know how I’ll ever survive.”

Malfoy? Her Malfoy?

She forced her voice to be light. “Oh? Malfoy?”

“His damn requests are what have kept me up all these nights!”

A powerful swirl of magic fueled an angry fire. Hermione felt hairs down the length of her spine and limbs tense. More than anything, she felt the need. A need to burn the witch from the face of the planet for even implying that her wizard was keeping another witch up all night.

So it was true! He moved on without telling her. So much for ‘all hers’.

She forced her hands beneath her thighs to stay their furious tingle. “Well, it is Malfoy. He’s known for how irritating he can be.”

“Hasn’t seemed to be bothering you this term.” Pansy gave a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, we’ve all noticed you both. It’s part of my problem. Malfoy demanded that the holiday be more about than me. Accused me of being selfish! Said if I wanted either of you to go along, I’d have to be accommodating.”

Hermione’s brows jumped. 

“I’ve tracked down Muggle experts from every country I can find with interesting libraries and museums and restaurants. Being a hostess has proved to be quite the challenge. A new robe shop is easy, but an interesting place to visit that even you haven’t seen? That’s a task. But, of course, I’ve handled it gracefully.” She flared her hands with a triumphant smile. “Proved that bugger just how accommodating I can be.”

“You’ve done this all…for me?”

The witch nodded, mid-yawn. 

Hermione grasped at straws, very fragmented ideas within her head. Malfoy. Her. The holiday. After term. Malfoy. Shagging. Slytherins. Pansy.

What the hell did that mean?

“Why would you do this all for me?” Hermione breathed out her surprise after her mind came up empty. Entirely empty, which was far more vexing than she liked. Since when was Hermione Granger out of ideas?

Pansy was not the least bit thrilled with the line of questioning. “What. I can’t be a good hostess to a Gryffindor?”

“That’s not what I – no, this is incredibly thoughtful,” she said. “I’ve just never been so accommodated before.”

This was welcome news by the Slytherin witch who was instantly perked, lips pursed together with a satisfied smirk. “Really?”

“Yes, Pansy. Thank you. It is wonderful.”

“Knew it,” she said proudly. “I am the best hostess. I just give the people what they want. You’ll tell Malfoy, won’t you? Not in that Gryffindor way. Be casual like ‘Pansy has made the best itinerary I have ever seen. I may never come back from this holiday.’ Something subtle like that. You can do that, can’t you? Deserves a little bit rubbed in his face, he does. You know he just asked me if I could add in a little stop to the trip. There is this ancient restaurant on the edge of Paris where his parents got engaged or something. Anyways, I guess he wants to go now that I’ve had plans cemented. Of course! I tell you, that prat. He’s just so lucky he’s like a brother to me.”

Hermione nodded, out of focus from Pansy since new members had joined their table with mumbles of hunger and groans of assignments. More for her to tell her tale of woe. It was easy for Hermione to slip out of sight and out of the Hall unnoticed.

It was just too suffocating. She needed room to think.

Her feet walked her out into the wide open, unafraid of what might lurk on the grounds at nightfall. She shut off all her thoughts, allowing only for the rolling scenery to be her mind. Bits of white had started to top blades of grass. They were especially crunchy underfoot as she walked. Like a crackle of applause as she traipsed further and further away from the castle out into the drawing dusk.

Evening light scattered across the grounds. Harsh shadows fell in the outline of the school behind. Those left in the darkness changed with frost as temperatures dropped. The night came early to those in the black. However, for once, the line of trees on the edge of the grounds were not coated in darkness.

In fact, the evening sun exposed a bit of light to their branches. They bathed in the rare bit of sunlight with radiance. It was the first time she’d ever seen the Black Forest look like a regular clump of trees from any part of England. 

A gust of wind blew. Ice spread over her cheeks. Hermione wrapped her robes tighter around her body, up around her neck as she walked.

She hadn’t a clue why, but she felt drawn to that collection of trees. Her mind wanted to scour underneath. Prove to herself that it was not truly haunted by more than a memory of an old madman comfortable underneath it’s trees. Many of her fears spawned from the dark depths. It lurked just outside her window of her beloved Hogwarts. A constant reminder of what horrors existed in the world, and against her kind.

Hermione wandered through the outer layer of the forest line, careful not to step into the cool air deeper. 

That was deeper than she felt she could go.


	8. Warning

### Warning

The Black Forest was a curious place. It was oddly comforting, yet terrifying. The trees were painted with blood of many, dark and light, creature and wizard alike. So many fell victim beneath the cover of the dark canopy.

Hermione’s heart throbbed painfully in her chest as she explored further through the darkness.

The distance was good. Alone in nature was mind-clearing. She wasn’t about to be whipped up in some kind of hormonal storm of lust and happiness at a moment’s notice. It was just as it was before. Just her. All on her own.

Things were as they should be.

Malfoy was with Pansy now, apparently. She refused to be angry about it. There was nothing more to their agreement than just shagging. They had no arrangement that said otherwise. 

Besides, what he did with his private love life was none of her concern; he was a free agent. He could shag who he liked, and she could, too. Had she been under the impression that they weren’t sleeping with other people? Yes. Did he appear to be more than satisfied with her? Again, yes.

Throwing her head back, she expressed her frustration aloud. Her groan echoed through the eerie quiet.

WHY WAS SHE SO HUNG UP ON DRACO BLOODY MALFOY!!

If she told the fourth year Hermione that she would love fooling around with Malfoy on school grounds and his personal villa where their weekend fun usually took place, there was no doubt that young Hermione would break down into fitful sobs at the sheer horror of herself. 

But, things were so different back then. Life was easier. Scary, of course, but simple. Sides were clear cut. Dark and light were the only things there. Good and evil. Love and hate. She read all those lines with precision, careful to keep herself and her friends on the side of logical reason. 

Logical reason was not hopping into the sack with Malfoy. That was something else. Something sinister.

Something so awful and pleasurable that she blushed to even think about. How wonderful it all made her feel. 

Hermione loved to watch Malfoy’s trousers tighten with his excitement around her. It was so wicked to feel the surge of excitement herself, too, like her body was a traitor to her entire mind as she succumbed to the shuddering ecstasy that he gave. 

Then there was his cute little protective edge around the castle. He’d linger close to her, trying to remain apart of interactions alongside her rather than be the odd man out. Even if it was something, he wasn’t remotely interested in. He’d stand there by her side. Never willing to part, and never convinced otherwise.

When she slipped on a puddle in the stairway – apparently a few sixth years had a water duel out of eyesight from the professors – Malfoy caught her, skinning his own shins in the process so that her flesh was saved the pain. Of course, she was the one tasked with tending to his wounds. He refused to see Madame Pomphrey since Hermione was likely to be more experienced than the ‘old heifer’ anyway. 

Godric, that smile. She loved his smile. It was a thrill like none other to make him smile like that, or even laugh! He never laughed easy; his humor was rather dry. The gift of it was more exciting than it should be. If it were to be a record she could play over and over again, she’d always be content.

Hermione hadn’t noticed how deep she’d traversed into the wood. She was far away from sight of Hogwarts, and the reach of light. The trees were thick. Brush in tangled knots below her, trying to grab at her ankles. Dense silver mist hanged just over her head.

It smelled old. Rotten decay and mold. The very power filled her nostrils with each breath, more like a gasp for oxygen since it’d grown dense. So dense.

Suddenly, she felt very panicked. 

Hairs on the back of her neck raised on end. She felt her magic gather in strong walls, but there was no reason. No source. 

Old habits died hard. Hermione grabbed hold of her wand, immediately casting a shield as she looked around.

The dark made it difficult to identify anything. Nothing but long shadows, mist, and an ever-growing blackness. It reached out with grasping fingers. 

She couldn’t talk her mind down with logic. Voldemort was gone. He didn’t haunt the trees. Evil was abolished with him. There was nothing below the trees that wanted to harm her. And yet, she didn’t believe it. 

Something was out there. It wanted her. More like, it wanted to harm her. 

Breath was now a struggle. Webs of panic crawled over her skin. She felt danger was near, but she couldn’t see it. There was nothing but darkness. Only pitch black. Where would she cast? What if it wasn’t threatening? 

Hermione gripped her wand harder, casting a stronger shield. Then, quicker than a flash, she shot out a Patronus charm. A playful, ethereal otter shot out from the tip of her wand, danced between the trees and chased away the dark shadows while igniting three large figures between the trees.

One was considerably large. The others were normal sized like a regular wizard.

Their eyes, red and blown wide, watched her as globs of drool dropped from their loose lips.

Hermione stepped back in surprise. They were werewolves. The ones that the Aurors were hunting since the end of the war. Fugitives aligned with Voldemort at a time.

No one spoke. Silence of the wood shattered her concentration. There wasn’t another person there to help her.

Backup would be wonderful. Harry and Ron were always good for that. They never wavered in the line of duty that presented itself. Their net kept her wits during the war but they were too far away from her now. Now she was alone.

A full-blown werewolf was almost impossible to bring down alone, let alone three. From the looks of it, all three were well developed with their illness. The biggest one was alpha, the size of three grown men. His hands were claws, densely coated in scraggly ash-colored fur. Fangs hanged down past his bottom lip.

Malfoy flashed before her eyes. He loved to go for walks. Everyone knew he walked the edge of the forest. The very Black Forest where these werewolves stood in their hungry hunt. Hermione’s fear dissipated to resolve. Her magic swelled around her arms. Mind cleared of all the clutter.

It could have been him to stumble upon this pack. Not her. They could’ve torn him to absolute shreds.

Magic now within her full power, she pointed her wand directly at the largest one in a display that she hoped would make her appear to be an worthy opponent.

By the look of the group, though, it wouldn’t do much to spare their attack.

The alpha stepped forward, taking a long inhale through his large nostrils. He panted like a dog as he breathed harder and harder. 

He was sniffing…her scent.

Hermione blanched as she watched the werewolf grow agitated with excitement. He took another step closer, which she answered with a step backward. All the while she felt vomit lurking at the back of her throat. Its awful bitter bile coated her tongue as thoughts raced through her mind.

No. No. She wasn’t his. She was already claimed. Didn’t he know that? 

Malfoy’s scent had to be on her. Let him smell another male on her flesh so clearly marked.

She took another two steps backward. Her eyes remained fixed ahead. The alpha bared his fangs like a cat. A sharp hiss howled out his throat. 

Whatever it was, it radiated through her bones like a sharp slap across the face. Her magic built higher and higher, harder to withstand. Oh, how her fingers twitched to snap a hex at him. Give him a warning that there was nothing for him. She was someone else’s.

Hermione swallowed her fear back down when she thought too long on what horror was behind a werewolf’s lust and recast her shield. Just as the words came out of her mouth, one of the smaller wolves leapt forward. 

“Confringo.”

The air turned to a nasty singed hair odor. Werewolf, yipping and whimpering. 

Next came the other. He ran around the outside of the clearing, trying to get her back turned, but Hermione was quicker. However, her attention directed away, the alpha jumped quietly toward her. She turned as the shadow met her peripheral sight, wand stretched forward, when a curse flew over her shoulder and struck the large creature in the chest. 

His entire body went rigid. Frozen solid as he fell backward.

Hermione gasped out, but not with much of a chance. Two younger werewolves leapt toward her, fangs bared, eyes set on her throat, when she whipped the wand around her head and scorched the earth in front of her feet. They were only momentarily detained.

It was long enough to glance over her shoulder.

Out of the trees came Malfoy, red in the face and jaw set tight in fury. Another curse shot from the end of his wand at the alpha frozen on the ground. Her heart pounded wildly at the very sight of him, so out of breath and disheveled from an apparent run through the wood. Flutters in her belly erupted in pounding throbs. So feral and wild. 

A growl rumbled through the quiet, breaking her gaze away from Malfoy back to her attackers.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Hermione shouted.

One young wolf dropped. 

“Hurry! They don’t last for long,” Malfoy called.

He tried to come beside her, but the other wolf came between the pair rendering them apart and weaker, taking a long swipe at Malfoy. Black robes shredded underneath the claws. Hermione yelped. Malfoy’s limbs could have easily become nothing but a limp, torn mess under that power.

“Confringo,” she casted. It wasn’t powerful enough to truly hurt the wolf. He simply turned to confront her now.

She glanced to see if Malfoy was okay. He was no more focused on himself than he was on the ground. All his face turned to a rage as he raised his wand to the werewolf. 

He’d opened his mouth in the shape of a curse, but his eyes traveled upward and grew fearful in his surprise.

“Granger! Look out!” He shouted.

The younger wolf jumped atop of Malfoy in his moment of weakness, just as Hermione saw the alpha on his crouched behind her with a sickening smile on his face. 

“Run, Hermione. Run!”

But, her magic couldn’t focus. It demanded her attention back to Malfoy. She couldn’t allow him to be hurt. The sheer strength of her magic enabled a spell to shoot out of her wand without a word. And whatever it was, it tore through the werewolf’s flesh with ease. Waves of syrupy blood fell down to the ground. 

Malfoy was pissed. The tone of his scream spoke plenty. “Get the hell out of here!”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

One moment, not even a breath later, she was pulled back by the neck of her robes. Fabric bunched up around her throat, burned her flesh and pressed against her windpipe.

There was a startled shriek from the pile of werewolf’s body and organs and blood, Malfoy’s legs kicked out through it all. He was shouting her name, but it came distorted to her ears. One by one, her limbs fell numb. Her body hanged limply, unable to muster much strength left for a fight. It screamed for breath that she couldn’t give.

Darkness crept in through the clear-cut sight of Malfoy struggling against a half-mangled werewolf, half-alive yet fatally wounded. The thick neck lunged forward. Fangs near gripped Malfoy’s throat. She shuddered back a horrid sob. 

It hadn’t been enough. The spell only turned the body to a slippery mess, but life still coursed through parts. Her love for him wasn’t enough to save him from a certain fate that awaited at the teeth of the rabid creatures, so hungry and eager to end their lives. 

The alpha held her closer to his massive body, a large sniff at her once more.

She felt the hot, vile breath of the alpha on her body even through her robes. It made her retch; bits of puke fell out of her mouth as the idea of his flesh close to her brought waves of vomit upward in a hot shot. 

Surprised, he dropped her. She thought he was angry, but he was distracted by the fluids she’d just expelled. The long sappy tongue lapped up the sour bile.

Quicker than he, his focus divided, Hermione grabbed hold of her wand and screamed out a curse that was sure to stop him longer than any other. It was the most awful one she’d ever fired. Her anger helped it whip out her vengeance on the werewolf who dared lay on hand on her body. 

The alpha fell back with a howl.

He rolled and howled as his claws raked across his skin. Hairy skin split open to red muscle underneath. White tendons snapped below grit-coated claws as he pulled and pulled at his body. It felt surreal as he writhed amongst the debris of the forest floor, bleeding and squirting out fluids of his organs as he dug deeper into his body. 

He started to cease; death was imminent. It fell upon him in a sudden weight. One moment he howled out a deep shuddering sound, and the next, the Black Forest was silent. 

Hermione rose to wobbly knees, unable to believe just how much power had erupted out of her wand. It zapped almost everything out of her. Drained and unable to stand, she looked all around.  
Where was Malfoy? She couldn’t hear him.

“Malfoy?” She whimpered.

Oh Godric. Had they bitten him? Her vision had faded a bit while she hung up there. Had they bitten him? If he’d gotten bitten, she’d give him every counter spell she knew just to arrest the turn.

It was all her fault. 

Her voice was frantic. “Malfoy! Mal – Draco! Draco, where are you?”

“I’m here, Granger.”

He grunted as he hoisted the remaining weight of the werewolf off his body. It fell. The ground shook underfoot. 

She turned. A wave of relief washed over her. One piece. His entire body was intact. 

Werewolf bites were known to be particularly painful. If he had been bitten, he’d be in immense pain unable to speak. That’s not to say, he hadn’t been scratched. A single scratch was just as easy to infect local tissue. He may remain himself, but those damaged cells could turn with their blood curse.

Hermione raced to him, grasping at his robes for each limb. “Are you hurt? Did it scratch you?”

There were tears in her eyes as she grasped more and more. Two arms. No sources of blood. She tried to grab at his legs when his hands gripped her shoulders.

“Hermione, stop. Stop, I’m fine.” Malfoy pulled her close in an embrace. They shared a few deep breaths. The action over, it was a much-needed break from intense duels. Magic was easily drained. However, Hermione felt herself fill up with power near him. He pressed his pursed lips against her forehead. “Why the hell didn’t you run?”

“There was no way I was going to leave you to fend for yourself!” She shrieked. What the hell was he thinking? One was enough to take down a wizard, let alone three. They’d made easy work of him, just as they about did with her. “Wait – how did you even find me? I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I didn’t even know where I was going.”

His icy grey eyes were wild. They roamed over her face without abandon. He was hesitant in his reply.

“I – I don’t know. I just felt drawn to you. Like a warning in my head,” he muttered. “You were so scared. It just filled me up. Why the hell didn’t you apparate?” 

Oh. Wow. 

She completely forgot about apparating! They hadn’t been allowed to apparate before the war, no matter what the circumstance. The ancient wards of the school prevented anyone apparating in or out of the castle. Headmistress McGonagall changed the wards just for the war veterans whom were not unruly children any longer. 

“Oh,” she groaned. Her head fell to his chest. 

The very scent of him calmed her immensely. What would happen if he’d gotten hurt? 

“Stop,” he growled in her ear. Lost in thought, her hands had started checking his body for injuries. Again.

Hermione wasn’t ashamed of herself. She cared so much about him. His safety was paramount.

“You know just one scrape from their teeth can infect,” she mumbled weakly. “We ought to check you out.”

“I’m fine, Granger.” His hands pulled her tighter against his chest. “Now answer me. Why the hell did you come out here alone? Is there something in that thick head of yours that can’t comprehend danger?”

She hadn’t seen it before but now the expression on his face was beyond what she imagined fear to look like. It was utter terror that hid below the surface of the usual mask of indifference.

Her mouth fell open. Words aghast. 

He was not amused. “Well? Did you want to be torn limb by limb by a pack of werewolves? I’d love to have scooped up your broken bones all over this forest floor. Do you think your parents would be happy to receive that beautiful gift? Their only daughter torn to shreds in a delicious meal for monsters.”

She swallowed back her tears. “Don’t be cruel.”

“Why would you willingly walk into danger?” He snarled.

“I just had to think about things, and wasn’t thinking…”

He rolled his eyes. “Naturally. Wasn’t thinking while thinking. Hermione Granger, everyone. Witch of powerful insight.”

Hermione stifled back a sob. “You’re the one who left me to go find Pansy.”

She hated what a jealous shrew she sounded like. It was an awful tone of voice. Even her mother would chastise her.

Draco blinked once. Then twice.

“So, that’s a reason to go die in the woods? Because I needed to talk to Pansy.”

“No, no.” She wagged her trembling finger. “Not talk. That isn’t what you and Pansy do. You guys do more than that.”

She hated that bemused look on his face. Her palm pushed his chest away. Hard.

“Don’t give me that look! Oh, Godric, I could curse you right now for leaving me for her. Do you know how insulting it is?”

Nope. Now she was frantic.

“I can’t believe – oh! You, Draco Malfoy, are a right foul git!” Her feet stomped against the ground like a whiny child in a tantrum. “You have cursed me with this need for you, and made me promise you that you were the only one, and then just leave me while you go screw your heart out with some other witch?”

There wasn’t a moment’s pause when his long arms grabbed hold of her wrists. She fought against them.

“No. Don’t you dare try to wish this all away with a kiss or a feel up,” she said. “I won’t be distracted.”

He grabbed hold and pulled her close, one inch after one inch until she was struggling against his chest, but he was hardly fazed even as knuckles of her fists connected with his torso once in a while. Malfoy kept his hold, eyes blazed with fire as he watched her fight. Her jaw clenched together swing after swing, devastated to tears with each miss and heartbroken at just how much she hated the thought of being without him. Being left for another. 

When she was flush against his chest, his lips crashed against hers. Their fiery burn pulled her out of her sadness back to the brink of stable ground. His feeling around her, arms wrapped tight against her waist, the scent of his sandalwood cologne all around them in a hot cloud.

His hands pulled her thighs up, so she straddled his body. The chill in his fingers soothed the burning heat that captured her. 

Hermione pulled him taut against her lips. She kissed every ounce of breath out of her lungs until her vision went fuzzy.

“Better?” His brow quirked as he regarded the look on her face.

She nodded, suddenly unable to form words.

“Now will you listen to what _I_ have to say?”

There was a quiet pause before she answered quietly, “Answer quickly. I can’t tell you how long this feeling will last.”

“Stop that,” he snipped. “You know how long it’ll last. It’ll last for however long we decide it will. And I don’t want it to stop. Ever. I know it isn’t what either of us wanted, but to hell with that. The hell with anything that wants us apart, because you know just as well as I that we are better than any other couple that’s come out this damn school.”

Hermione shot him a warning glance. He ignored it.

“You know it’s the truth. We’re better than all them,” Malfoy growled. “And if you think I’m going to let that Terry Boot make a move on you while I’m still breathing, he’s got another thing coming.”

She rolled her eyes. “Draco.”

“You’re my witch Hermione. Mine.”

“No.” 

Malfoy grabbed hold her cheek, steadying her face level with his. A storm gathered in his eyes. Their icy coolness became wild as he scanned her face. 

His jaw set tight. “What?”

Hermione swallowed. “No. No, Draco Malfoy, you are mine.”

Her fingers laced beneath his tie. She felt his Adam’s apple bob against her knuckle.

“And,” she toyed with the tender flesh of his throat under her nail, “I’d really love to kiss you all over…”

“Look for scratches,” he added much to her frustration.

“And,” she added sharply. “shower off all this disgusting mess.”

They both looked down at their robes, tattered and stained with the remnants of the pack of fallen werewolves. Malfoy’s were shredded down one side and were coated thickly with red hot blood. 

He smirked. “You do realize we have some things to talk about, right? I’m not just a wizard to mount.”

She moaned and buried her face into his neck. “Later, please.”

“Allow me.” His hand extended out to hers.

Apparating while exhausted was a strange feeling. Swirled and squished into nothing but a line of consciousness as all space fled by. She was pulled into a keyhole by the belly button, landed straight to her feet, but not in the welcoming space she wanted. Her suite at Hogwarts was far from this place.

It was Hogwarts, alright.

“The hospital wing?”

Malfoy turned on toe and addressed the old Healer there. “She’s been attacked by werewolves. She needs to be looked over.”

Werewolves brought out an uncomfortable edge in the community. Hogwarts was no different. People changed at the very mention. It was a disease that spread. They were treated with kid gloves. Quarantined. Every inch scoured for scratches or bite marks. 

Madame Pomphrey clasped her chest. “Werewolves? On school grounds?”

“You traitor!” Hermione stomped her foot. He knew just what he did when he apparated them both. They weren’t going back to her suite to bathe and shag into oblivion. Well, two could play at that game. “He was attacked, too. In fact, one bled all over him.”

The wizard flashed her a murderous look. He hadn’t the words to be heard over the frantic scrambles of the school healer as she summoned house elves to notify the Ministry and the Headmistress. Others were commanded to move the other patients in the beds of the wing. 

Her wand raised up an enclosed room at the end of the wing, lined in sheets of thick plastic and frosted walls for privacy. Two beds were sent through the openings, as well as a couple of night tables, and candles. 

“You two, in there. Now.”

Hermione mounted her last bit of dignity and strolled right past Malfoy, whom chuckled in a way she didn’t appreciate. They each went to their bed and waited. 

Over the course of the next few hours, they were washed, scrubbed, inspected, sanitized and questioned mercilessly. It was well into the night before either were allowed to close their eyes. 

There was little comfort in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. Some of the worst nights she’d spent there. Antiseptic walls starched white sheets, crisp linens and scratchy gowns. Nothing welcomed a rest. When she closed her eyes, all she felt was hyper awareness that she was not in a place that was safe to her. Every snore of another patient or clicking of shoes as the Madame Pomphrey checked in on her patients alerted her to the change in atmosphere. 

She tossed and turned against her mattress, sweaty and panicked. Her mind started to blur reality. There was a second where she could have swore she smelled smoke. Like the fire that ignited the school during the battle. 

Hermione drifted into another fitful sleep where her skin prickled. Cold and dark. All she felt was slippery sickening scales of a snake wrapping around her body. There was the faint tickle of a snake’s tongue as it slithered up her belly.

Her eyes opened wide kicking her legs as she did all she could to get it off of her. She whimpered uncontrollably in the dark. The snake. It was going to suffocate her. She pulled at her chest, her ribs, the taut feeling on her waist. All her might poured into that snake as tears poured down her face. 

It couldn’t be happening. She were no killer snakes. Not anymore. Where was her wand? 

The snake cinched tighter around her. Hermione thrashed wildly, crying out in pitiful sobs. The darkness closed in around her, snake against her chest in a life-threatening grip and all hope for life as she knew it faded with the sound of her beating heart.

“Hey, hey. Granger. Wake up. It’s me.” A voice called out through the dark. “You’re fine. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Hazy candle light of the hospital wing burned her eyes. She blinked hard against them, as she tried to steady the racing pulse in her chest. 

No, it was just a dream. There was no smoke. All she smelled was the sterile scent of vinegar. The snake was impossible, too. Scratchy sheets were all she felt against her bare thighs. That and the unnaturally short hem of the hospital gown.

Of course, there was an addition in her space. An arm held her tight at the waist, anchored to the bed as a cheek was pressed hard into hers. 

“It’s not real,” he cooed. “Just a dream.”

A silent tear rolled down the tip of her nose. “It felt so real. Like it was going to eat me whole.”

“Nothing will eat you,” he whispered into her ear. “It’d have to fight me first.”

“But, you’re not there. At night. I’m alone in there. It always comes for me then.”

Malfoy curled up close to her side. The silk of his personalized pajamas were a soft reprieve from the scratchy cotton of the bed. They fell into their usual position: his chest against her back, one arm draped protectively around her, and his face buried into the heat of her neck. He loved to smell her hair as he laid with her. He never said so, but she heard his deep breaths as he snuggled closer. 

His lips reached tenderly to the tender spot of her throat. “If you want me to stay Granger, just ask.”

“No,” she whispered.

“And why not?”

His fingers rubbed small circles across her stomach. Thumbs brushed just under her bellybutton. The deep fluttering of her magic ignited. She felt the burn twist down to her core, aching for more of his touch.

“Because…it’d mean something then.” She bit her lip. 

It meant something to her, but there was no way she could withstand it not meaning something to him. If all of her new experiences with him were only one-sided, she didn’t want to know. She enjoyed the blissful ignorance.

There was a huff behind her. “In what way has none of this meant something?”

She shrugged her shoulders, too ashamed to look at him. 

“Granger, don’t you be a cowardly lion. There is no more running away from me,” he said. “You are mine and I am yours.”

“But what does that even mean?” She mumbled. “I’m so confused at what you want from me. You don’t need help in school, you don’t need any more friends, and you definitely aren’t that desperate for another witch to lay. They all line up for a chance at the bloody white dragon. What is it, Malfoy? What could you possibly want from me that you couldn’t get from another person alive?”

He didn’t pause nor even think before he replied, “You. I just want you.”


	9. Secrets

### Secrets

“You have to go back to your bed.” Hermione buttoned up the last of her cardigan while Malfoy stretched out overtop of her bedspread. Well, not hers. It was the hospital wings. A scratchy over-washed linen of bright white. “They’ll be here any minute.”

Malfoy folded his arms behind his head. “Think they’ll curse you for fraternizing with a Slytherin?”

“No,” she hissed. She slapped his thigh gently, unable to contain her nerves. “I’m going to tell them about, us. It’s just…it’s a very sensitive subject. Can’t just blurt it out when they see you snuggled in my bed, now can I? They both need to be…prepared for the news.”

Apart from their first night together, Malfoy slept all night by her side for the first time. Her nightmare left her too restless to sleep without him there. She had to know it wasn’t a dream. He was really there for her. They were something more than just a secret fling. 

Draco Malfoy cared for her. He wanted to be with her, and only her.

He had to stay the night. If she woke up alone, she’d never believed it happened. 

“Can’t have the Golden Girl with scum like me, right?”

Hermione paused. She’d been braiding her wily curls behind her head. The ends dropped loose from her fingers as her jaw fell.

“Don’t say that,” she chastised softly. 

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? Potter and Weasley will lose their minds if they see you with me. That’s why you can’t tell them.”

She reached out for him, but he brushed her aside. “I am going to tell them.”

“Forget it,” he snapped as he marched back to his own cot on the other end of the isolation room. 

Like the drama queen that he was, true to his Slytherin nature, he sat atop his bed with crossed arms and an icy glare. There was such a frustration cut through his features, she opened her mouth to beg it to fade away. Instead she finished her braids with a sigh.

She had every intention to push through the discomfort of the encounter with Harry and Ron to reveal Draco as apart of her life. It was only right by him. There was nothing about him that needed to be hidden; she knew that now. He cared for her, protected her when he could, and showed the greatest respect for every one of her limits. 

At one time, she’d been worried about his Death Eater stance. Her own reputation was not so easily embraced as Harry and Ron’s. Their blood was much more deserving in the wizarding world. There was so much that made Hermione easily enough dismissed. She thought Draco Malfoy was one.

Now, it hardly mattered. 

She was a witch. He was a wizard. They liked one another greatly and couldn’t stay apart in any capacity. 

Draco Malfoy was hers. A prize she was ready to claim. 

Hermione paced the floors. There was a stirring on the other side of the plastic. She heard Madame Pomphrey’s voice most clearly. 

The woman was frazzled. “No one shall visit until I’ve done a personal inspection myself. They have doses. Health that is more important than a visit, and I’ll not be rushed along. It is vital they be assessed. No one shall enter without my approval which cannot be given without my inspection. I’ll not have a floor full of students infected because of your impatience, Mr. Potter. Auror or not. I am the Healer of this school.”

Malfoy snickered. 

Several pairs of footsteps bounced around the wing. Madame Pomphrey clearly addressed more than just Harry. 

Hermione Granger wiped the day’s stress away. She rubbed her cheeks for a bit of life, the slightest color.

“Mr. Potter, will you leave me be?” Madame Pomphrey stated in a clipped tone. “I will notify you when she is ready for visitors and not a minute sooner.”

She glanced across the room to Malfoy. He still sulked in his corner like a child. A soft smile came to her lips.

“What?” He questioned coolly. 

There was something so endearing in the way he pouted about the whole thing. It reminded her of times when she was left out of happenings with the boys as they roamed around Hogwarts, no doubt to break rules she would never dare do, and when included, she was merely instructed to follow their actions. It went against her nature to break rules, but she so desperately wanted to be included. 

Malfoy was the first rule she’d broken on her own volition.

It was a bit of a masterpiece. 

“If you’re going to stand there and stare, you might as well make it interesting for me to look at.” He smirked, only half-heartedly. 

Back to that attitude already. Hermione felt a flare of frustration, but then something else. Entirely.

Her fingers reached for the edge of her cardigan, toying it slightly. His eyebrows raised as the hem of her shirt raised. A section of creamy skin grew before his eyes as Hermione lifted higher and higher until just the bottom of her breasts were visible. Malfoy was visibly stirred. He sat erect on his bed with a slacked jaw as she toyed lifting the fabric higher up toward the rosy flesh of her nipples. At the last minute before her entire chest was exposed, she dropped the cardigan back down for cover.

“I think that’s better saved for the Room of Requirement, don’t you?”

His eyes narrowed as he watched her triumphantly smile, rubbing her thighs together in a lame attempt to rub away the excitement she felt bubbling down there. 

He clicked his tongue. “Tease.”

“Your tease,” she corrected. “Only yours.”

For many moments – what felt like hours – Malfoy beheld her there in the middle of their isolation room, dressed in her school uniform that he’d removed off of her many times, a devilish glint in her eye, one that he was certain he put there, and an unabashed sense of security in the statement. Tension left his face. Instead it was replaced with a bit of a bemused look and a signature smirk. 

She’d satisfied his insecurity. A huge insecurity about her and other wizards, like she was so easily swept away by any. Her best friends, nonetheless! 

There was a spark of feminist outrage at the fact that he’d feel the need to remind her of what they did together in the presence of other wizards, yet it died when she realized something she hadn’t before.

It wasn’t ownership he asserted; it was belonging. Malfoy needed reassurance that she still owned him like he did her. That their bond couldn’t be broken on the simplest of terms. That he was more than just a throw away friend.

Her heart lurched at his vulnerability. It was good that it was her he was drawn to. She may be a witch now, with magic to guide her, but she was raised a Muggle. Feelings of the gut always steered a Muggle to the right place. 

One glance at Malfoy made her gut twist in happy knots of excitement and relief. 

That was enough for her.

“Heads up, Granger.” He dipped his head as the plastic rustling entered their space.

Hermione took a step back onto her side of the isolation room. They were isolated together, but weren’t supposed to get too close, in case of open wounds they hadn’t found. Transmission was too easy. Though, there wasn’t much protection from a werewolf when the time came. 

Still. Rules were rules. 

Madame Pomphrey scurgified herself once more when she entered isolation. Her determination set through her wrinkled face very clearly. She worked on Hermione first, asking all the usual diagnostic questions: how did she feel, was she sore, were there any areas that felt odd, was she able to recall the past twenty-four hours?

Her answers were flat. Hermione knew she wasn’t infected with the disease. Frankly, the isolation lasted much longer than she thought was necessary, but Headmistress McGonagall disagreed. All precautions were taken. They’d have to be interviewed by Aurors once the isolation was done, too. A month of check ups until the next full moon were required. On the night of the full moon, they’d be sent to separate isolation rooms – more like cages – just to prove there was no change.

Any answer out of line or test that was unusual, the stay would be extended.

Though time locked alone with nothing to entertain her apart from bucking, thrusting body of Malfoy sounded thrilling, Hermione wanted to return to her studies. She wasn’t going to be the school’s first ninth year student, just because of a few deserter werewolves.

Pomphrey closed a curtain around her and Malfoy for his tests. Hermione sat and waited with her hands in her lap. She knew there was nothing wrong with him. He was more like himself than she was. But still, her heart sputtered when the curtain was thrown back open by the old Healer.

“Both of you should consider yourselves very lucky,” the Healer announced.

“So, we’re not infected?” Hermione asked hopefully. 

“Now, now. These are not entirely foolproof. You’ll have to return for your check ups and the first full moon before we know for certain,” Madame Pomphrey said. “However, the looks of all the charms indicate you have both escaped unharmed by the encounter.”

Malfoy sighed in relief the same as she did.

Only. Madame Pomphrey wasn’t done yet. She thrusted two vials out. Their counter spells for the disease. The most awful tasting potion yet to date. Malfoy grimaced as the contents poured onto his tongue. Hermione gagged the moment the taste coated her taste buds and didn’t stop until she’d drank an entire glass of water.

“Ugh,” she declared as she swallowed the last gulp.

Pomphrey was unaffected. “May it serve as a lesson to not venture into the Black Forest or into the realms of uncontrolled werewolves.”

It was a lesson that Hermione would remember for eternity. She’d never explore the woods again, at least not until she developed a tastier version of the counter spell.

“Does this mean,” Hermione glanced over at Malfoy, “that I can see Harry now?”

The witch gave a curt nod. “You have visitors, Miss Granger, which unfortunately means you both have visitors. There is not a spare space that Mr. Malfoy may be given in lieu of a private visit. I’m afraid, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy must also consent to the visit.”

Hermione turned to him, the most pleading face she could muster. How badly she wanted to see her friends. It was only October, but so much time apart felt criminal. Harry and Ron were so busy, too. She thought she wouldn’t see them until Christmas.

He was surprised he was given a choice. A hungry look of power crossed his lips. For a moment she thought he might deny her the visit, but he said he didn’t mind and swaggered away to his own bed. 

She was so elated she might have kissed him. Pomphrey’s harsh gaze stayed her action.

Still, she wanted him to know how appreciative she was. “I owe you one, Malfoy.”

“That you do, Granger. That you do.”

Harry, Ron and Ginny rushed into the isolation wards without a care. They smiled and hugged her tight. Ron and Harry especially. They beamed smiles at their friend who they hadn’t seen since the start of term. The longest any of them had gone without seeing each other in a very, very long time.

“We’re so glad you’re okay,” Harry said as he wrapped his arms around her.

It felt as comforting as it always was to be in her friend’s embrace. Ron’s, too, although his was more crushing. He squeezed the air from her lungs like it was his life’s purpose.

Ginny wasn’t ignorant to Malfoy’s presence. She gave him a drastic wink before she turned back to her friends. Hermione was not amused. A pinch to the young Weasley’s arm gave just the right warning.

Toying with Malfoy wasn’t allowed, not even to her best friends.

“How have you been, Mione?” Ron was so cheerful. He seemed ready to burst. “Can’t believe you stumbled across those wolves we’ve been chasing. What are the chances of that?”

“Just my luck.” She shrugged.

“Yeah, Hermione’s got all the good luck these days,” Ginny snorted.

Her cheeks turned ten shades of red as her eyes shot daggers toward the witch. Of course, Ginny was there for a bit of fun and gossip. Not to visit her nearly torn apart friend.

“Oh, yeah?” Harry’s face brightened. “Having a good year then?”

Hermione grinned. “It’s been brilliant. Without you two here, there is loads more time to get my to-do list done. I can study books I’ve only dreamed I’d get to read while at Hogwarts.”

“Oi. We aren’t that bad, now are we, Harry?” Ron shoved his friend gently. “We did come with gifts.”

Their empty hands said otherwise. She looked around suspiciously.

“Invisible gifts?” She quipped a bit too much like Malfoy. She bit back her urge to smirk.

Damn that Malfoy and his alluring charms. 

“Madame Pomphrey wouldn’t let us bring them in,” Harry said. His brows fell down on his face with regret. “But they’re really there for you.”

“Oh, go on. I don’t need your gifts. Tell me about training. What’s it like being an Auror?”

“It’s nothing like the war,” Ron explained.

Her brows knit together. “How do you mean?”

Ginny hopped onto the bed, crossing her dirty sneakers over the fresh linens. The girl twirled her thumbs together, more fixated on the wizard across the room in his own world, than her brother and boyfriend whom Hermione had believed she was most eager to see.

Still, there was a little part of her that felt Ginny wanted Malfoy. The slightest, ever so slight, piece of jealousy that Hermione had was directed at that teasing, sexual nature the pair had. 

Neither were embarrassed of themselves for inclining toward the ways better left unsaid. Their views were quite the opposite in fact. 

She couldn’t help but wonder if there was something there. 

“Ron’s just mad because there’s lots of paperwork,” Harry stated with a sigh. She snapped her attention back to her friends though the pull to look at Malfoy was impossible to resist. These were the friends she hadn’t seen in so long. “It is like the war in ways. Just legal now. We have to document everything and read reports. Those study tips you gave us have really helped at the Ministry, though. I read through my reports, block at all the filler stuff and find the important bits. Scanning. Like you said. It makes it go much quicker.”

“I told you boys that you’d use it,” she gloated. 

It felt amazing to feel a helpful part of them, even now, when her help wasn’t life or death circumstance. Her boys still used what she taught them, whether they liked it or not.

She reached out for Harry’s hand, a few happy tears in her eye, and was promptly reminded of why she couldn’t touch another wizard. A sharp hit of nauseas hit her mind. The touch was dropped away immediately.

Her hands went to her temples, rubbing at the dizziness forming there.

Harry’s brow knit together. “What’s wrong?”

“Look at her. She’s gone pale,” Ron was so kind to point out.

Ginny just chuckled. “Yeah, she can’t do that stuff anymore.”

“What stuff?” There was a line of wrinkles that overloaded Ron’s nose. It was like he wasn’t sure if it was gross or suspicious, so he decided for both expressions.

The red headed witch tugged at the end of Hermione’s braid, playful to the boys, but more of a sign. She wanted Hermione to tell the truth. Now. 

Silence was not lost to the boys as it once would have been. They both shifted, truly uncertain of what might be said next. 

“Pomphrey said you weren’t hurt by the werewolves,” Harry stated, although it was phrased more as a question. 

“I’m not ill,” Hermione confirmed. “It’s just this thing that I do now. When I touch other people’s skin.”

Ron looked horrified. “Skin?”

“Their hands, Ronald.” Her tone was sharper than she meant, but honestly. Why did boys always assume the worst? “Or any part of their skin that touches mine. It just makes me ill. Just until the connection is broke. Then I’m fine again. Like it never happened.”

Ginny’s hands were still at her back. They gently rubbed her spine, comforting the growing anxiety Hermione felt as she stared at her two friends faces. For all their greatness, neither liked to let go of a grudge. When it came to Malfoy, they loved to hate him. At one point it was mutual, she was sure. Malfoy was no huge fan of either of them, but he hadn’t cursed them the second he saw them, so that was growth. Reformation. He deserved that chance from her friends. Whether they saw it that way or not was another matter.

“What’s Pomphrey say about it?” Harry was more interested than concerned. It must not seem serious. Because it wasn’t. It was more trivial than anything.

“Haven’t seen her.”

Ron’s eyes grew wide. “Haven’t seen her? What, are you mental?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, Hermione. That’s crazy.”

“It’s only when she touches wizards.” Ginny shrugged. “What’s it matter?”

Witches and wizards are two very different aspects of human biology. Witches worry about safety. Wizards worry about thrill.

Ron and Harry were clearly disturbed by the lack of thrill than the safety of the illness for her. They were ready to flag down the grouchy Healer just to have her checked out again.

“Something has to be wrong,” Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It really is not a big deal.”

“How are you and Ron supposed to do anything if you can’t touch?” Harry blurted.

Mention of Ron and Hermione brought up a thick cloud of tension. Words that they were not a couple was very common by now. Most knew that there was nothing but friendship between the pair, bonded by a love for their friends and loyalty to each other, not in any romantic sense. The only one not privy to the reality was Harry Potter.

Much to Hermione’s frustration.

The harsh growl came out of Ginny’s throat. “You coward.”

“Ginny!” Ron blushed violently.

“You didn’t tell him?” Hermione added, equally embarrassed.

The lie had gone on long enough.

Harry disliked the change in the group. He shoved his hands into his pockets and grumbled, “Tell me what?”

“Nothing!” Ron exclaimed with a forced cheer. “Nothing to tell. Hermione and I are still going to get married no matter what.”

“What!” was said in unison. Not by Hermione and Ginny, but by Hermione and Malfoy, so stunned to reel in their emotions.

She’d hoped he would be able to stay out of it. Harry and Ron were not easy to get through to if they were riled. However, Malfoy had similar limits. Her marrying Ronald must be one.

Harry remained curiously unmoved by the joining of their discussion by an outside Slytherin. Ron was more than influenced. His body turned to stone, fists already formed at the ends of his arms. Ready to fight at the next move.

Malfoy glided close. His black trousers made a silky swish noise as he stepped to Hermione’s side.

“You’re a liar, Weasley. She’s not marrying you,” Malfoy spat.

There was a happy thrumming of fingers against Hermione’s back. Just the excitement Ginny came to see, apparently. 

“What’s it to you, Malfoy?” Ron was less than pleasant in his tone.

One hand slid into Malfoy’s pocket. The other crept its way behind Hermione’s back in a possessive tone. 

“She’s been seeing me since the start of term,” Malfoy declared so proudly. “The only wedding she’ll be in is mine.”

Hermione cringed as looks of shock took her friend’s face. Ron was bright red. Harry was frozen in place, eyes bulged near out of their sockets. Even she was a bit startled at his declaration. She glanced up at Malfoy and saw his icy gaze there, waiting for her to deny him. 

There was no shiver in her heart. She knew she’d never do that.

Her head fell against his forearm gently. “It’s true.”

“What the hell, Hermione?” It came from Harry. “You’ve been cheating on Ron with Malfoy for months?”

Her jaw fell open. Eyes landed on Ron, who changed his face to look just the same as Harry’s.

“Yeah. What the hell?” He added.

She gasped louder than a whale took in breath. “Are you kidding me, Ronald?”

There was a wait for an answer that never came. Malfoy gripped his hold on Hermione tighter. She felt the tension in his magic as his uncertainty climbed. He was ready for the threat. On her, or on him. It was perched at the ready for a duel.

Her hands reached out for him. Any part would do. She found her way over to his thigh which she gave three gentle, supportive rubs to soothe out whatever insecurity that was roaming his mind.

Impulsive as they were, Harry and Ron wouldn’t dare raise their wands to her.

When Ron made no attempt to answer her, she was forced to confront Harry. “You know I’d never betray you or Ron like that.”

Harry shook his head. “Explain this then. Because Ron says he’s ready to marry you. Been in love with you forever. Don’t you remember that?”

“Ron and I were never in love,” Hermione muttered. 

Her eyes were glassy with tears now. 

“He’s gone on about how much he’s missed you these months,” Harry explained. “And here you’ve been shagging Malfoy? What kind of friend are you?”

Ginny gasped. “Harry James Potter, you take that back!”

That’s when his hurt eyes turned to his own girlfriend. “You knew about this, Gin? You knew about them and didn’t tell me? He is your brother. You should be just as hurt.”

It broke her heart to watch her best friend accuse his own girlfriend and best friend be unfaithful witches. She felt dirty. Horrid. Lower than the mud in her veins. She’d known just how hard it would be, but she never imagined it going so wrong. 

The only way it could all be fixed was by Ron. Not her.

She turned to him with tears in her eyes. “Please, Ron. Please. Tell him the truth. It’s time to tell him.”

Ron’s eyes grew wide, and still he shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Tell the truth!” Ginny shouted. “Look at how far this has gone.”

“If you ever, ever loved me as a friend, prove it now. Please don’t let my friend think of me as a cheater,” Hermione pleaded. “End this charade. It’s gone on long enough. School’s over. Voldemort’s gone. You can tell the truth now.”

His blue eyes wavered. The war raged inside himself. She watched the fear come out in Ronald like it had all those years ago, when he’d first shared a secret with her that was far larger now than it had ever been. 

It was the bond that kept them together through all the dumb stunts he pulled over the years. All the insults he slung at her when he was angry, or just didn’t understand. She stayed alongside and he cared for her deeply for keeping that secret in a small box, hidden from the world.

The boxes time to open was now. It had to see the light. 

There was no way for their friendship to survive if it didn’t.

“Step up, Weasley."

Hermione grabbed hold of Malfoy’s suit pocket. Anything to hold him close without being smothered in his arms would help calm the panic. 

Here she was, almost ready to lose her two best friends over a damn stupid secret. 

But it had to be Ron to say it. It was Ron’s truth to tell.

“Shove off, Malfoy.”

“Go on, Ron. Say it,” Ginny urged. 

The young witch now stood by the bed. She was ready to hex and embrace Harry again, once he stopped being a stubborn fool.

Hermione licked her lips. “Please, Ron. It’ll be alright. Tell him.”

A sudden outburst erupted the still of the isolation room.

“What the bloody hell are you all going on about?” Harry threw his arms up in the air. “What. Tell me what? For the love of God, someone tell me.”

Malfoy inhaled sharply. It had been a long time since Harry had given in to outbursts. They both outgrew them truthfully.

His hand gripped Hermione as close as it could. The cool of his hand against her back radiated down her spine in icy tingles. Whatever it was, it sent her heart into overdrive.

She chanced a look. Just one greedy look at his pretty face. And, like always, it was etched in perfection. He wore his mask as he watched the two wizards in front of them with precise eyes. More than once, he glanced at the still knotted fists of Ron.

“Well?” Harry put his hands on his hips. “Can’t help but notice you’ve all gone silent. No one wants to tell me?”

“I’m gay,” Ron muttered out suddenly.

All breath stopped as their eyes watched Harry closely. He jumped when he became aware of the fact.

“And?” He said, exasperated.

Ron gasped. “What do you mean ‘and’? I’m bloody gay, that’s what.”

Harry’s eyes looked to Ginny, then to Hermione. The expression was unmistakable.

“Is that what this all has been about?” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Ron was worried of what people would say,” Hermione said softly. “He didn’t want everyone to think you were gay because you two were best friends. There were some awful rumors about Seamus and Dean once. It really made him worried you’d be bullied because of it.”

She wanted to reach out and touched Ron’s hand in solace with how awkward this moment must be, but she supposed her vomiting would distract from the emotions. 

Hermione thought it was so brave what Ronald did for their friend. He cared about Harry. His best friend. Sometimes his only friend when things were difficult. The one other person he could trust with all the world. He swallowed back his feelings, presented a fake face, and was ready to live a lie all for the sake of Harry’s reputation.

It wasn’t right, though. Ron deserved love. He deserved a life as himself without fear of what his friends or the world would think. 

Harrys jaw fell wide open. “You did that? For me?”

Ron nodded. 

“All that stuff about Hermione and Lavender?”

“All fake, mate. Well, Lavender was real. I like witches and wizards, you know. But Lavender was mainly because I was so pissed at Hermione and I knew she hated her,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Malfoy scoffed. “Real nice, Weasley.”

Ron narrowed his eyes. “Why are you even here, Malfoy? Don’t you have some woodland creatures to terrorize?”

“Ronald.” Hermione hissed.

“Had to give it up,” Malfoy answered calmly. “Some of us have to grow up.”

“Or grow it out.” Ginny winked down at Hermione. “Point is, Hermione’s got all that covered, so we don’t need to set aside worry for Malfoy’s eternal soul. All the stray witches will find refuge elsewhere.”

If she’d ever blushed, it was nothing compared to the blush that covered her entire body in mortification. 

The last – absolute last – thing that she wanted her two best friends to know was about her sex life. It was entirely personal and private. In all honestly, even Ginny shouldn’t know such fragile information. Godric knew who all she told. 

“Ew,” Ron wrinkled his nose. “I did not need to know that.”

“Live with it. She’s tamed the white dragon.” Ginny flashed a devious smile. “Much to everyone’s disappointment.”

Harry sighed. “Lovely images, Gin. Just lovely.”

“You’re telling me.” The red head toyed her eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione’s face fell into her palms. “Oh, my.”

Of course, Malfoy found Ginny’s musing hilarious. He chuckled, much to the surprise of the two boys unacquainted with the reformed Malfoy of eighth year. They gawked with unguarded expressions until the sound of chuckles died away.

“You guys are lucky you came when you did.” Gin placed her cheek against Harry’s shoulder with a grin. “Last week, Malfoy would have torn you apart if you yelled at Hermione like that.”

Harry sighed. “I didn’t yell.”

Ron’s head ripped around. “Torn us apart?”

Ginny chuckled at a pleasant memory, though it was anything but. “Yeah. Seamus made the mistake of yelling at her for something or other. Who the hell knows with him? Anyway, he came at Hermione all red in the face, yelling in that Irish brogue or whatever it is, and Malfoy like stepped in front of her and told him that if you didn’t keep his voice down that he’d rip it out his throat.”

The two boys raised their eyebrows.

“Seamus, you say?” The red head shot a glance toward his friend. “Might have to stop by and see what his problem is.”

“His throat if he keeps it up.” Malfoy growled.

The guys share a scoffing laugh, one they weren’t committed to but it felt like an alliance of some kind between the trio.

They all welcomed the quiet that followed. Tension diffused; it was quite lovely for an emotion-less breath.

The day had only just started, and she was desperate for it to end.

Timing was given. The Aurors would seen be needed back at the Ministry for report and other investigations. They all looked at each other with sad eyes. Except Malfoy, who seemed all too relieved to have the interaction over with.

Ron turned to Hermione, gentle as he touched her covered arm. “So you and him are…?”

“Together,” she finished, unable to stand the sight of Ronald saying ‘shagging’. “Yes, we are.”

“And he’s…?”

“Respectful. I haven’t had to hex him once,” she declared with pride. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes and grumbled, “You’re making me blush, Granger.”

She bit back a giggle. “Really, Ron. I’m fine. And, I’m so sorry that you had to keep all this hidden all these years. It isn’t fair. Harry would have stood by your side no matter what, just like I did. But now we’re all free. Free to be our honest selves. Things are well.”

“Things are well.” Harry repeated the words with a smile.

No one had been able to say that in a very long time.

Aurors marched in and ushered Ron and Harry away not much later. Ginny was allowed a few moments alone before she too was pushed out by a cross Madame Pomphrey, unable to believe there were still visitors in the isolation booth.

“You best hope I don’t send a vial of this to your dormitory later, Miss Weasley.”

Their last dose administered. Finally, they were free to go. 

Hermione was so excited. She couldn’t wait to see the library again. And her own room. Oh, and her bed! She missed her bed. 

Malfoy disappeared the moment they were free. Apparating inside Hogwarts was entirely lazy of him. Hermione welcomed the movement. The isolation room hadn’t been that large. A proper stretch was only suitable when there was enough room to actually spread ones legs.

She was greeted back by a few other students in the halls. A few asked some questions but were deterred away when their class times rang.

Headmistress McGonagall found her wandering near classrooms. The old witch gave an exhausted look. It was protocol for Hermione to rest for the rest of the school day and return to class tomorrow. For her health. Two wrinkled hands waved her away to her suite. 

But there wasn’t any work to be done in her room. 

All her assignments were up to date. Extra credit projects were done, too. 

What would she do with all the free time? 

She slid into her desk seat with a sigh. There was always her correspondence. 

Ink. Quill. Parchment at the ready. She penned a letter to her parents, expressing her safety and her well wishes for them all the way in Australia. Then, she wrote to the Weasley’s to ensure they, too, were not worried by the fragmented news they were sure to receive from the boys. 

It took all of twenty minutes. 

Her head fell back. There was too much time in the day. 

But, studying. That was always needing done. It never hurt to brush up on things she already knew, right? 

She flopped down to the mattress like gravity just left. It greeted her softly. A content smile erupted on her face as her body was enveloped by the heavenly feeling of soft sheets and blankets.   
Once she spread herself out, changed into a fresh set of clothes, and emptied her book bag, she realized that all her studies were up to date well over the required amount.

Pleasure reading, it was then.

She scanned through her stacks and with a cringe landed upon the only book within her entire suite that she hadn’t read: _Drawn_.

Hermione gritted her teeth and read the first chapter, then the next, then another. 

_Drawn_ was not a crummy romance novel with lots of clichés and terrible intimacy. It was an entire novel on Bavmorda Blatt! Her life, her research, her entire life and findings. She read the information with gusto, stopping at times to take a deep breath.

It read like a manual to her own mysterious symptoms. 

_The witch will experience a variety of repulsion measures during the course of her moon. Most reacted most violate during their ovulation window in an effort to ensure only their partner was reproduced with._

So Terry had been right. She wasn’t so sick when she neared her period at the conclusion of her fertility.

_Couples indicated that their changes to their magic only came after skin contact. Neither experienced the_ Drawn _phenomenon years before during casual acquaintance. It was only after an accidental (or intentional in the case of Cindewell and Markham Rummage as the case of their relationship started after Cindy punched Markham) skin-to-skin contact._

_The_ Drawn _experience has presented in rather different couples. All age groups, races, and socio-economical class are affected. It stems from their magic itself. The nature of magic is to change and grow into a stronger version of itself. In said findings, witches and wizards of extraordinary circumstance and ability have found themselves affected with strong, primal forces that pushed two together in frantic couplings. Most reported that they were unable to stop even if they wanted to. It is said that this happens after skin contact, during the witch’s fertility window when the phenomenon is at its strongest._

_Sexual relations between the pairs are reported as intense and an emotional experience unlike previous relations with other magical and non-magical people._

_There are reports of couples coming from backgrounds that are unwelcome in the eyes of society. Their relationships have been met with a great deal of family strife, possible disownment, and arranged murder. Said constraints have yet to yield an uncoupling. Neither partner is willing to risk harm to their partner, nor are they under control to abandon the_ Drawn _phenomenon._

Hermione poured over the pages and pages of ramblings of Bavmorda as she researched as many couples as she could find. There were many bits of information that was not helpful. It was more irritating than usual. There were answers that she needed. Not just to have another couple’s preference of sexual position engrained into her mind.

For over an hour, she read the entirety of the book and found it’s completion to be lacking.

There were still things she needed to know. And when she couldn’t figure something out, there was only one thing to be done…after she took a calming drought.


	10. Truth

### Truth

“Miss Granger.” The headmistress was at her desk, tiny spectacles at the end of her nose, scrolls in hand. “I find it comforting to know that your house is very fitting for this tenacious behavior. However there is nothing that can be done. You must rest for the remainder of the day. No classes. That is my final word on the matter.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Actually Professor, I’ve come with some questions. Regarding something else.”

The bright red flesh of her knuckles begged her to stop the incessant wringing; they were already so tender. Her lips, too, ached. Constant chewing hadn’t helped them survive. Anxiety practically seeped out her pores. 

There was no other way to receive the information she needed, and quite frankly, it was the worst punishment to reveal to a former Head of House just what a former student now spent her time doing. And who. Dante was well within rights to add it as the final circle of hell. 

The headmistress was momentarily surprised. A few wrinkles fell limp at her cheeks. They were sure to stay as the conversation carried on. Then in a tight pucker, a verbal thrashing would come. Hermione knew it well thanks to Harry and Ron’s constant mischief. It would be the worst it’d ever been. She wholly deserved it.

Professionalism always paramount, McGonagall gestured a welcome to a seat in front of her. The desk was much more modest than when it was Dumbledore’s office. He preferred a great large desk stuffed with lots of secrets. It had loomed overhead those who entered his office as a commanding space, a general’s station above the underlings. 

_Wizards._

At least McGonagall was more practical. She had an organized desk, great size but not overly so, books, a perfectly planned calendar and three orbs of soft light that made the entire space less forbidding since it was the office of the highest personnel in the school. The position demanded prestige. 

As for the command of station, the headmistress herself was plenty for the duty. She was known for her firm hand in education. Even her work with troublemakers was known since Gryffindor often held most of them. A glare from those piercing eyes was enough to stop the trouble immediately. It was a quality Hermione utilized in her own practice of tending to the boys as they navigated through years of schooling like a couple of…teenage boys. It was no easy task. 

McGonagall was a strong witch.

Not to say there was no soft side to the woman. She had a fondness in her heart for all students that truly embraced what Hogwarts was for: education. Her matronly wisdom gave many students like Hermione Granger a very open policy on their pursuits of knowledge acquisition. 

Plus she hired competent teachers. That made the woman remarkable.

Hermione settled into an overstuffed brown chair as the headmistress ordered tea. Of all the things Hermione was, she wasn’t thirsty. It was just a way to buy time. Perhaps another way could be arranged so that she might gathered the information she needed without having to admit her darkest secrets to her oldest and most respected role model. However, none presented itself. 

“It has been a quiet year at Hogwarts,” McGonagall remarked in an offhanded way. “One of the quietest in quite a while.”

She forced a smile. “I expect it has.”

“That’s not to say it is without drama.”

“It is a school, professor,” Hermione reminded. “A little drama is healthy, I suppose. There was so much of it in my younger years when we had more important things to worry about. These days it must seem a reprieve to have drama about boys rather than terror.”

The elderly witch seemed to like that answer. She gave a content sigh.

“What can I do to assist you today, Miss Granger? If a werewolf attack cannot slow you down, I will do my best not to be slow as well.”

Headmistress McGonagall sniffed her steaming tea. It was a beautiful blend of aromatics. Lemon and thyme. They wafted in heavy clouds over the dainty tea cups.

It was distracting Hermione’s prepared statements. “I understand you were given a library request on behalf of my query.”

McGonagall sipped at her tea cup, unaware just how frustrating it was to her student. The urgency of Bavmorda Blatt applied much more than any realized. The fate of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy rested on what was to be said next.

The tea was placed aside. “I did. On Miss Bavmorda Blatt, was it not?”

“That is correct, professor,” Hermione said with a stiff smile. Her fingers burned.

“I did approve the request,” the headmistress stated, “if that is what you are here about. Madame Pince should have delivered it by now.”

Hermione nodded. “It was given to me, yes, but I find that it lacks a few things I am searching for.”

“Is that so?” The witch narrowed her eyes. 

The Gryffindor courage was abandoning her. She couldn’t manage the conversation any longer. It was entirely uncomfortable. McGonagall couldn’t be subjected to the very extent of her explicit relationship with another wizard in search for answers from an ancient witch’s novel. It was too mortifying! There had to be another way.

Someone else had to know more about the work of Bavmorda. More so, they had to know what happened to the ones she studied. It was centuries ago. Long before anyone alive or dead was even born. But answers didn’t just disappear from the world. Information stayed. Somehow. 

“I’ll admit that I am not an expert on the witch, myself, Miss Granger. Her work was before my time.” She took off the pair of glasses and closed them hesitantly. “You know, very few ever ask for information concerning Bavmorda Blatt. I believe only three or four times has it ever been requested from the school library. She is not taught here. Our studies do not include the areas in which she researched. Moreover, the governor’s made the information available on request. It is their way of controlling things.”

Headmistress McGonagall looked at her with an expectant gaze. For what, she wasn’t entirely sure. Nothing of what she had said made any sense in the terms that Hermione sought. 

Doing her best to keep her calm, she perched herself on the edge of her seat. “Controlling what things, professor?”

There was a pause where she thought the headmistress might explain further. That was what she was there for, wasn’t it? Instead, the witch turned back to her teacup with a certain confidence she always radiated but never so fully.

“Knowledge, my dear. Knowledge and understanding.”

Yes, there was indeed something she was satisfied with. 

It seemed like ages before McGonagall had drank her fill and reveled in her delight long enough. 

“Forgive me for intruding, Miss Granger. I know how you value your privacy, especially with Mister Potter and Mister Weasley as your close personal friends, but I haven’t helped but notice that you’ve taken up the company of a fellow war veteran.”

Hermione tensed. “I’ve befriended many war veterans.”

“But you prefer one to many.” McGonagall’s eyes sparkled. “It has come to the attention of many faculty. They’ve been under the impression I should intervene.”

She’d fought alongside the Headmistress during the Battle of Hogwarts. Battled Death Eaters at the very gates of the school where they both now sat. Both had seen people they’d known for years, slain in cold blood and vicious murder.

Hermione didn’t expect to be doubted then. It certainly wasn’t allowed now.

“I can take care of myself,” she said stiffly.

“You have my complete confidence,” the headmistress replied. “I have known you many years, Miss Granger. Seen you change within these walls. You’ve grown into a remarkable, capable young witch inside Hogwarts and out. It would be an insult to my own capabilities as an educator to distrust your developed judgement. However, I was concerned for your wellbeing. It is not an instinct ever turned off you know. That is… until I received your request.”

“My request?”

The heavy velvet robes of the headmistress brushed the chairs as she retreated to her desk to retrieve a slip of parchment. 

McGonagall handed the slip over. “Your inquiry into Bavmorda Blatt. I was notified by Madame Pince of your interest and almost had written it off. You are an eager student, always have been. Although it answered more recent questions I’d had. All of them.”

There was scratchy scrawl on the parchment. At the bottom was the signature of the elderly librarian. 

Hermione held the paper in her hand. “How?”

“Miss Granger. The only ones who come looking for that book are the ones who are under the phenomenon that Miss Blatt researched. She called it the _Drawn_ experience,” Headmistress McGonagall stated. “It is why you came searching for answers, is it not? Your recent joining with Mister Malfoy has brought on the experience.”

A strong blush burned her cheeks. She found herself unable to look the witch in the eye. Instead, she stared down at her laced hands almost wishing half of them were Draco’s. He made her feel so secure in their relationship. Not ashamed.

Quiet fell. It was pregnant with much. Much implied. 

She shuddered at the word joining. Godric, it was so uncomfortable to have the knowledge blasted around the castle so apparent that even professors noticed!

“Oh dear, child. There is nothing to be ashamed of,” the headmistress said with a smile. “Young love is one of the most beautiful experiences in the world.”

“But it isn’t love, is it?” Hermione snipped, though the venom was not harsh. “It is something entirely out of our control. Our magic is what brings us together, not each other.”

It was just another version of a love potion. Genuine feeling could not stem from unnatural sources. Only obsession, infatuation. Neither of those were things she wanted to experience. The devastation was to be that much more difficult when the feeling wore off.

That didn’t touch the fact that she was already in too deep with Draco to ever stop. She couldn’t. Not until her magic released her, and the research was very vague to the conclusion of the experience. What happened? Were their lives just dissolved in an instant once their magic quit searching for the other? How broken did they feel without a half of themselves to fill the void? Did they catch themselves reaching out in an empty bed for someone who would never come back?

Tears she hadn’t allowed fell anyway, as she struggled to control her breath. But that rattling came to her chest no matter how hard she willed it away. Memories of him haunted her, recalled in succession over the course of their unusual friendship turned shag-ship with rosy light in watery finish. She loved them. It was the taste of freedom and happiness and stability that she yearned for since she was nine years old, an outcast in a muggle world turned outcast in a magical world. 

A hollow sound rattled out her lungs, shaking her ribs in ghostly grasps. 

Would she ever know that feeling again?

McGonagall allowed her to cry her fill of tears in silence. Concern bled out of her eyes as Hermione tried to hide her shame away, out of sight. No one could know just how broken she felt on the inside. So alone and broken.

But the sadness washed away. Breath returned. It was easier despite the sharp burn at the back of her throat.

She lifted her gaze to the witch in front of her. The headmistress had sloped lips. In her hands, she dangled a white handkerchief. Hermione accepted with a forced smile that fell away as soon as she pushed it there.

“As being raised by a muggle family, I understand the concept is very difficult to process,” McGonagall said, lower than before. Hermione snapped her attention upward suddenly concerned. The headmistress pursed her lips together to an indifferent expression. “Miss Granger, our magic is who we are. It is us in ethereal form. Our souls, if you will.”

She had to shake her head to dispel the shock. “This isn’t a curse, the experience?”

“No, child. It is the rarest of bonding in souls. Your magic found another perfectly complimented to itself so much so that it will not forget that connection for as long as you live.”

As long as she lived, her magic would long for Draco. 

“So,” she shuddered a breath. “All these feelings are real?”

There was a slight nod. “In the purest of forms.”

“For the both of us? We both feel the same way, I mean. Draco could actually…love me?”

It was mutual. The connection she felt was the same for him, too. The Drawn experience required a pair of magic sources, not one. 

Draco Malfoy could love her.

Oh. That meant, she could actually love him. 

But there was no joking on that matter. She did. Entirely. 

McGonagall gave the lightest of chuckles ever possible. Hermione looked at her curiously. 

“Miss Granger, do you know how the separation pureblood and muggle born came to be?” She asked, again sparkle in eye.

Hermione shifted in her seat. “I assumed it was formed as an attempt to keep wealthier families wealthy, by keeping heirs richer and richer, rather than spread thin between a population. Cut their options and bind them to other wealthy heirs to ensure their exclusivity survival. Muggles do it, too. In some circles.”

“In a way, that is true. Miss Blatt’s research is what lead to the formation of the term ‘Mudblood’. She observed by physical contact, magic could control a person stronger than any other force,” the headmistress explained. “It was spread that muggle borns were dirty to the touch to prevent such couplings from ever forming. Pureblood heirs would be too frightened and arrogant to touch a muggle born, thus preventing a bond as strong as the _Drawn_ experience. Bavmorda found that many couplings came from such contact. The long, stable line of magic of a pureblood family sought something new, fresh and wilder in the muggle borns that paired magic so nicely. The ideal bond, you know.”

Hermione left the office completely in a daze. A whirlwind of emotions swirled around her body like a waiting lion ready to pounce at the next upheaval. 

Her steps echoed through the emptiness of the corridor. She didn’t know how long she was in there, but by the unusual silence of the castle, it had to mean that a feast was being served in the Great Hall. Eating was a logical choice. Everybody needed food.

Her appetite, though, was not for food. She craved another thing completely.

Whom she sought was bound to be in the Great Hall. Wizards never missed meals.

She started for the Great Hall, waves of relief washing through her as she trekked closer to her target, but on her way, she was confronted with a figure. It lingered along a wall, watching her with intent. Hungry. The being couldn’t withdraw the type of ache it had.

A sharp tingle coursed down her spine, through the slope of her buttocks, right to the spot that ached in a similar hunger.

The clattering of utensils against wooden tables reminded her just where she was. In the middle of a school hallway. 

Urgency turned her on toe. Most of the castle would be deserted at that time of night. Her footsteps were not alone. The figure followed. It was just as eager as her. She felt its fingertips drag across her sides as she walked, their needy pull almost stopping her tracks.

The blissful gush between her thighs caught her breath somewhere between a yelp and moan. 

The next moment an arm snaked its way around her waist and tugged her back into a nearby door. 

It was dark. The air was a dust cloud as she was thrust inside. She struggled to breathe, eyes still blinded by pure darkness, only sounds the mutterings of protection wards and locking spells. There was only one thing she was able to focus on: the raging of her body. 

She whimpered softly until her fingers grasped hold of what she really wanted.

_Him._

“Are you alright?” It was so soft and gentle. 

Hermione made quick work of his school robes. She heard the drop to the floor in a heavy thud.

“Yes,” she breathed. 

Next came the time for his belt. Her fingers struggled with the smooth leather, unable to focus on just how a belt worked. Her body wanted release more than coherent thought. 

She opted for the other option. Get him to remove it himself. Biting back a smile that he couldn’t see anyway, Hermione pushed against his trousers were a notable wand rested. It was only half thick than its usual erection. She used the friction of his trousers to raise it more taut, uncomfortable for any period of time.

His hands rested on her shoulders. “Are you sure?”

She groaned. “Yes, Draco. I just want to feel you, inside me.”

Her hands rubbed faster and faster. More tension gathered in a tent across his crotch so much so, that even unzipping his fly gave little relief. 

“Come on,” she whined in her most moany tone. “I can’t wait. Let’s do it right here. Take me over the back of this desk and just don’t stop.”

He placed each of his hands against her face, stilling her movements. “What’s the rush, Granger? Is something wrong?”

She exhaled. “Yes and no.” 

The lust wasn’t powerful enough to reign over the honesty the two shared. But then again, there were ways to make it fade.

Her tongue raked down the side of his neck in a smooth glide. Hands, eager and ready, pushed through the barrier of clothes to the blissful body below. The gentle hairs atop his pecs ran in a downward line to the edge of his trousers and lower. Memories of just what it looked like stretched under her split thighs brought forth the glassy haze over her eyes. How she needed it. Right then.

She groped at his sharp edges, pulling him close. The length of his body, the strength of his muscles overwhelmed her. Every inch of her flesh covered by his. Overpowered and putty to his own actions, Hermione bit back the waves of pleasure that coursed through her. 

Another second, and her knickers would be at her ankles.

“I’m not going anywhere. Slow down.” Draco pulled away from her needy hands. “Talk to me.”

There was no time for that. She had to feel his magic with hers once more. Being close wasn’t enough anymore. 

She reigned in frustration. “Make love to me. Make love to me and I will.”

Draco’s body went rigid.

It was so obvious that her words had taken him by surprise that the cloud of lust cleared which made way for the thundering storm of self-doubt to ease its way in. 

He didn’t know about the experience they were under. There was no reason in his mind that he was attached her any part beyond his cock. He had no obligation to her at the moment. Just their own experience between the two of them that kept them transfixed and uninterested in other avenues. For all he knew, it was just a fling. An exclusive fling, but a simple fling none the less. 

Love was not in his expectation.

But it was in hers. She felt that there would be nothing, no force strong enough magical or otherwise, that could rip that bond away. So let him get scared. Let him run off. She held onto his clothes in a fist. If he fought to get away, so be it; she’d attach herself like a leech. Let him trot her through the halls across his chest if he wanted to.

There was no humiliation left in it.

Draco regained animation. He moved away and pulled her off the desk with him. 

“Lumos,” he casted.

The blue light barely cut through the immense black. It did expose an atmosphere filled with dust particles.

Sharp edges of his face casted long shadows past him as he observed. Despite the curling temptation buried in their bellies, his eyes stayed fixed on hers. She knew the look. He didn’t trust it to be truthful. He had to see it for himself.

She swallowed audibly. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes.”

Her heart sank. The experience. It was supposed to be mutual.

He was hers. Why didn’t he feel that?

“If you think I’m going to make love to you in this storage closet, you’ve got your wires crossed about me.” Draco’s mouth met with hers in a gentle longing that welled up the emotions once more. They poured out of her lips into his. So beautiful and heated. Fingers snaked through her hair to hold her in place as his lips pushed through the entire wall of Hermione Granger and into the soft sensitive inside where a piece of himself was so neatly tucked away. He tugged at it heartily the more gently he handled her body.

She was anything but precious, yet he touched her as one would a newborn infant so fragile to the world.

When he withdrew, a tear escaped the corner of her eye. His thumb gently rubbed it away.

“Allow me,” he said with a small smile.

She hesitated, and it made him chuckle.

“Don’t trust me, Granger?” He smirked.

“On the contrary, Draco.” She laced her fingers through his. “I trust you with the most valuable thing I own.”

His brow quirked, albeit not so bemused as he had been. Seriousness was his mask.

His lips brushed against their knuckles. “And what is that…Hermione?”

“My heart.”

They apparated a second later. 

They landed back at the suites in the eighth-year tower, but not in the room they were used to. It was Draco’s personal suite. She knew it was because of the very obvious nature of decoration. Black, gray and white. Most shockingly was a bed three times the size of hers, bleach white frame with luscious black silk sheets and a dense black comforter, even fluffier than those pillows in his villa had been.

Hermione gasped as she looked around the room. It was so impersonal, yet totally Draco in the same breath.

He watched her examine the room with eager eyes. It wasn’t until her eyes turned back to him that he spoke.

“Does this suit you?” There was sincerity in his voice. 

She nodded slowly. “More than I deserve.”

“Nonsense,” he said. She was pulled close. “You deserve anything you desire.”

“Anything I want?”

Draco kept his face poised stoic “Anything at all.”

In all her lust and mind-controlling need that her magic swirled through in harshest degree, the little voices of the old Hermione reigned through in louder volume. It was a chance to ask a burning question. Something that would impact their relationship forever, just at one answer. One.

An answer she had to know but ate at her happiness like a rabid dog. It infected every moment from then on. 

There was no escape.

“I want two things then,” she said.

He smirked. “Only two?”

“Yes. And I want them from you.” She planted her feet in front of his, shoulder width apart. The only show of strength against a towering, impressive wizard like Draco. “Two things.”

His expression changed. The dip in his gaze noted just how wide she’d presented herself. 

Perhaps he forgot himself or the cold demeanor he was supposed to display, but Draco’s fingers pulled at her hand, desperate to twist his hold in hers. It hurt her heart to watch him fidget in the silence. All those insecurities he had showed themselves once more. Gone was the confident Malfoy. He hadn’t been indifferent to her reaction of him since the day in the library where he walked away in full assurance that she’d come to him. 

She was stubborn then, too. It had been her absolute mission to avoid him. A plague would have caught her attention more pleasingly than he would have. 

Neither of them were the same. Not since the start of term. 

“Draco.” His name tasted so sweet on her tongue. It wasn’t a foreign object as it once was to call him by his first name. Malfoy was the boy. Draco was the man. His hand gripped hers tight. “I want the truth.”

He made no attempt to answer or to ask. His gaze was expectant of her to continue.

She forced an exhale. “Why did you leave me to go see Pansy? Terry was nothing. I even told you so, and yet, you ran off to find her. Like you hadn’t just been with me. I have to know. Did you sleep with her?”

Draco gulped. The question clearly was an uncomfortable one. Although his eyes never left hers, she felt that they wanted to. 

Hermione held onto their joined hands. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” he finally answered after too long of hesitation.

“How can I believe you?”

His eyes narrowed. “If I can trust your word when you say you don’t love Boot, or Krum or even your stumbling Weasley, then you can trust mine when I say that my only interest in Pansy Parkinson is friendship. It has been so for a few years.”

“Why did you have to go see her then?” Hermione was so shocked. Everything inside her head alarmed that he’d gone back to shag his way in a familiar witch. His answer gave her little understanding. “It felt like you ran away from me or something. I thought that…that’s why I went to the forest. I just couldn’t stand to be around her when you were with. I was so jealous.”

He growled. A hand raked his blonde locks viciously.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you have not a soul in the world to be jealous of? Every single witch wishes she was you. Every one. Most will be lucky to become half of what you are by the time their wretched, boring lives are complete. Don’t you see? You’re better than all. You are the very best.”

Hermione relaxed. Her shoulders fell in a sudden drop. She dropped her head and placed it against his expansive chest. It welcomed her back into his embrace without the slightest delay. The one free arm wrapped around her in a squeeze that swirled her insides once more. 

Something about him always knew how to do that.

“So, what was so urgent with Pansy?” She sighed. “You missed out on a chance to snog, so it must have been important.”

Draco scoffed. “As if there is ever a shortage on snogging.”

His hands dropped low against her frame and gripped her butt cheek. She giggled into his shirt, surely blushing.

“It was about our summer holiday,” he explained after a gentle kiss and a demanding look from her. “Some extra plans.”

“Oh, you mean the restaurant in Paris?”

Apparently Pansy being a gossip was a terrible surprise. Draco’s eyes grew twice their size.

“Hermione Granger, the true know it all.” He snickered. “What book did you read that in? My diary?”

“She told me, you prat.”

“Told you what?”

Hermione groaned. She wanted to be snogging right now. Why had she decided that talking was better?

“She told me that you wanted to go to a special restaurant in Paris, and she suspects you did it on purpose, to prove your point that she isn’t so accommodating.” She noticed the way his eyes flickered back and forth across her face. He searched for something. But what? “Why? Is there some secret to it that I don’t know about?”

One corner of his lip toyed upward. There was a sudden tightness to his grip under her buttocks, stronger than the desire in his eye. Her thighs straddled his hips as he walked toward the centerpiece of his room.

“Don’t tell me, Granger.” His fingertips brushed against her swollen lips with every step. She bit back a sharp need to gasp. “You would rather talk than do what you’ve wanted to do since the Black Forest?”

Breath caught in her throat as his fingers reached higher on her thighs, pulling apart her pussy as he held her close. His eyes never left her face. He watched her teeth sink into her bottom lip as a single finger ran along her heated, wet folds. It only brushed against her clit. She grinded herself forward in desperation.

“Touch me,” she said. 

He pulled his fingers farther away from her aching need. That burn for him was stronger than any other emotion she ever felt. Not fear. Nor danger. Or joy. 

She wanted him. She wanted to mark his skin with her teeth and nails and lips like a toy with big black letters on the shoe “Property of Hermione Granger.” That was the only mission she felt her mind focus on. It begged her ownership of him, just as he’d done in the beginning. 

Hermione met Draco’s gaze back with her own intensity. “Make love to me, Draco.”

The top button of his shirt had been undone. His white skin rested below, tinged with the slightly pink of excitement. She slid her fingers below the fabric as the thrum of pulse sped in the softness flesh of his throat. His eyes remained fixed on hers as she worked. Two, then three more buttons were undone. His entire chest was near exposed.

Smooth white flesh split with small bubbled marks, slices against a clean canvas. 

His breath caught when her fingers neared one of them. Apprehension made his body stiffen.

Draco hated his scars Harry gave him. He hated to see their notches all over his body in eternal reminder of what he’d done as a stupid boy. Just like his Dark Mark, he wished they could be removed.

But Hermione didn’t share that hate. They were apart of him. He was only who he was now because of those scars. Physical and mental. 

She dipped down and caressed the scar gently with her lips. The small line was smooth, just like the rest of him, but stood out as her lips grazed across. 

“This isn’t my idea of love making,” he snipped.

Her lips stayed the course. She kissed as many scars as she could see scattered across his chest like a quilt sewn again after years of use.

“Hermione…” He growled in warning.

“Draco, please.” She whined, filled with sudden emotion that she suspected was partly from him. They fed off one another, especially when they touched. “I like them.”

“Well I don’t. So just stop.”

His hold on her loosened. She slid her way down from his chest back to her own feet again. It was his escape. If he wasn’t holding her, he didn’t have to look at her. 

One thing he hated the most was shame.

Hermione reached out with a sudden burst of lament. Tears in her eyes, she held up his wrist. The marked one. The black ink was faded, but still very much visible with the Dark Lord’s mark. It was a mark that very few free people wore. An exclusivity in Azkaban and not much else.

“If you are not a project that needs fixed, then why are there so many parts of yourself that you can’t stand to even look at?” Her heart heaved in her chest. “I hate the way you won’t look at yourself. I hate the way you shy away from me every time I even touch one of those scars. Because you know what I see when my fingers run across one of those small, insignificant lines or look at this tattoo? I see you. I see your change. I see the wizard you are now, so gentle and kind and intimidating and respectful. Every one of these things,” she raised his wrist to her mouth and kissed it over and over again, “I love so much because I love the wizard they are attached to so much more.”

He fell back against the wall. There was not even an attempt to hide the shock that he so clearly felt.

“And that’s…the second thing I want from you. I want you. All to myself. All the time. I want to love you like somebody should have long before now.”

Over the course of a day, she’d been so overcome with love, shock, torment, confusion, and total need. She was given her entire future between the pages of a little black book. All the questions and instability of what awaited her outside the gates of Hogwarts was all so very precise. Malfoy would be there. He would be the stable ground as she started a life as a full grown witch.

But choice. She wanted so much to be his choice rather than duty. It was not his job to ensure her survival and satisfaction just because of the Drawn experience. They could fight it with every fiber in their being if they truly wanted to. There was always that choice. Magic was only as powerful as they allowed it. 

Hermione would hate herself for it, but she’d fight against every ache for him if that’s what he wished of her.

She fell to the edge of his bed, letting her frayed curls fall all around her face. “There are so many things I have to tell you, but I wanted that one to be the first.”

The heaviest sigh covered the sound of his steps. He hovered above her in a long shadow, unreadable and dark. His hands slithered through her hair until they reached the base of her neck. He placed a single thumb over the steady beat of her aorta. 

“Say it, Hermione.”

Breath caught in her throat. “I want you to be all mine.”

“And?”

A rising tide welled up inside her as she sat there with Draco’s finger against her throat and the silence of the entire tower of Hogwarts. She was frightened and thrilled at what he might do. He was just as unpredictable as a werewolf and the same amount of dangerous. He was not weak by any means. One hand could clamp around her windpipe and crush it to pieces.

Caution to the wind, she raised her eyes to meet his cool stare. “I love you.”

Magic was so thick that it snapped against their skin as they moved. Draco pushed her down to the mattress, kissing her neck, chest and face without the slightest hesitation. His lips suckled their way at her sensitive nodes buried in her throat. 

She was locked under his hold. Wrists were held above her head. His knees placed just outside her hips so moving was impossible. There she was, so trapped below the enormous entity of Draco Malfoy whose own touch ignited her fire higher than her thighs. 

His desire pushed against her thigh. It rubbed so hard against her flesh that if he’d been atop of her, she might have orgasmed through her knickers.

Their magic swirled together, entwined like branches of a tree, and pushed their essence across the barrier of skin into the very soul of each other. Hermione felt the crashing strength of Draco’s love for her just as her dedication to him slapped him in the face.

Framed in a silk of black, their bodies wrapped around one another, fully clothed but in full need to be closer than close.

“Say it again,” he muttered against her flesh. His kisses ran paths all over her body. 

He pulled her top shirt away so that only her tank top laid as a barrier between his lips and her flesh. His teeth snapped one of the straps. She felt full wet excitement fill her panties as the sting turned to pleasure.

“Say it,” he repeated. Pleaded.

She’d closed her eyes, lost in sensation, but fluttered them open to once again stare at his beautiful face with more than just pride. “I love you.”

A sharpness jutted into her thigh like the mutter of a spell. 

His hold on her dropped away. She watched him eagerly pull at his shirt, toss it to the floor and unbuckle his belt with ease. He was so determined. All his skin glowed a dull pink. Trousers tossed away; all he wore was a smile on his face. 

The large staff in his lap was encompassed by a neatly trimmed patch of hair. It wiggled and hardened further when he caught her gaze.

She blushed and tucked her face behind her arm. But, it was short lived. The next moment, fingers were running against the waistline of her jeans, the cool metal button, and then the zipper. Her body was shed of her jeans and her panties in one swipe. Her surprise came when the cool air nipped at her pink folds with shuddering grip. 

Eyes squeezed shut. She couldn’t tell what he was about to do, but she knew it was going to be thrust her mind back into a haze where no thought came through except what to do next. 

A shadow coated her skin. Two elbows planted into the mattress near her head. Sweet breath pushed little hairs to tickle her cheeks. 

Her eyes jolted open at an ice grey sky. He didn’t stare down at her with complete mind-numbing lust. She knew that look very well. No, this time it was gentle. There weren’t wrinkles near his eyes nor a twitch in his lips. Draco’s face was calm.

Of course, there was a slight push against her opening. He beckoned to come in. The head of his cock rubbed at her folds up to her engorged clit with question. 

He wouldn’t take. She had to give.

Hermione swung both her legs up and pushed her hips right against his. Then he was there. Inside. 

Seconds turned to minutes turned to ages as his shaft slid in and out. Long and smooth. He was in no rush though his cock said otherwise. Draco pushed through her taut gripping muscles, inch by inch a pleasure she felt tenfold. 

It was never like that before. They loved the fast pace, bend-over-the-bed-and-shag-until-the-screams-are-too-hard-to-ignore kind of romp, not the slow and steady feeling they both shared now. Every breath was like a dive into a deep well of emotion. She felt him push up farther and farther, pushing her need for release even closer to the surface. 

All the while, they shared the same gaze.

There was a gentle twitch in her leg as he pushed suddenly into her opening, hitting that beautiful g-spot with just the right momentum. Hermione pushed out a moan that bordered on scream.

“Do you remember in the Black Forest when I told you I felt your fear and that’s how I was able to find you?” He slid his entire shaft out of her warmth.

She laid there, bewildered and yearning. “Yes, of course.”

His forehead fell against hers. “There was a moment where it stopped. You were so scared, and then just nothing. My magic couldn’t feel you anymore. Just nothing when I reached out. And I…I thought you were dead.”

Their noses touched. She rubbed hers gently, soothing what she felt inside him.

He breathed in soft pants against her face for a few minutes before he continued. “I was so sure that you were dead that I might have used Dark Magic just to bring you back. I’d throw all of it away. My freedom, my inheritance, my life. Every shred of light left in my life would be dissipated in a heartbeat if it meant you were safe.”

Twisting and swirling, the magic that brought them together connected them once more.

Her back arched as waves of disappointment and terror swept through her. The only telltale sign of life was a faint heart that slowed to complete stop as empty darkness closed in. She felt the way his desperation mounted into a stream of power as he ran through the forest floor, not caring that his shoes were ruined beyond help or that his best robes were left frayed from clawing branches as he passed. And grief. There was the unmistakable stench of grief. No matter how hard she fought it, the magic pushed the rotten decay below her nostrils. 

When the feeling passed, she gasped out unsteady breaths. 

Hermione was overcome as she wrapped her arms around Draco’s neck and kissed him until her lungs near burst. Then again, and again, even as the tears rolled down her cheeks, she kissed him with everything she had. 

He fell to the side, pulling her atop his chest, still attached at the lips. His arms wrapped around her body like coiled snakes. Their warmth shared with cool skin. His fingers spread. They held her in place as his tongue thrust itself at her frantic lips. 

Hermione’s upper thigh brushed against his cock, still erect as a statue. It never ceased to amaze her just how unending his need was.

Of course, the juices smearing against his hips and thighs were just as evident of her own need.

She danced her fingers down his abdomen, loving each catch in his throat when he realized just what she intended to do. There was fire in his kiss then. His tongue dove deeper down her throat as she gently wrapped around his moistened shaft.

The thrill came when she started to move. He couldn’t stop his moans, even as they kissed. She started slow. Painfully slow. Swirling around his shaft with her palm or changing to a light grip with only her fingers against his tender flesh. The head at the end twitched as she grazed its ledge.

Draco’s hands started their own journey down to her breasts. He pulled at her nipples until they were in peaks. He knew how much she liked that.

Hermione pumped him faster. She allowed her grip to tighten ever so slight. But, it made all the difference. She felt the tension grow in his groans as he neared his end. It was dazzling to watch him so filled with need that he wanted to pleasure her as she pleasured him. His arms were very long, just barely able to touch the tip of her dripping wet but not enough to satisfy anything with it. 

“Hermione.” His entire body tensed stiffer than a broom. “Hermione, I - .”

“Just let it go, baby. Let it go.” She cooed. 

Draco quivered as his warm cum shot all over her hand and his thighs. 

She, however, didn’t know what to do with a sticky hand. It was her casting hand, so using a wand was out. And it was his suite, so she didn’t know where a single thing was. Unable to bring herself to wipe it on her shirt, she hovered her hand until he vanished away the mess.


	11. Panic

### Panic 

Draco rolled over and tucked his wand safely below his pillow before he reached out for her.

“How is it that you always have your wand?” Hermione rose to her elbows, walking fingers down the deep grooves of his chest.

“Habit.” It was muffled by her bushy head of curls that he buried his face into.

“You’d think it would be the same for me,” she pondered in a soft whisper. “Since wands were so precious during the war especially for a muggleborn.”

Draco pushed her hands away when they walked near his armpit. She sighed and walked them down the other way.

“You’re deadly enough on your own. Wand or not. Some of us aren’t so lucky.”

Hermione scoffed. “I’d say that is true for you rather than me. Most everyone is still too terrified to speak to you, let alone hex you.”

His eyes were closed and his breathing gentle. After they shagged, he always got tired. Holding back a devious grin, she started to reach back for the one spot he never, ever let her touch but just as her hand neared, it was snatched mid-air. 

“Witch,” he mumbled. He dropped her wrist away and locked her arm below his. “Granger, I was hexed all the time. Half the time, it was your friends that did it.”

“Not without prompting.”

He yawned. “I was an evil, little cockroach, alright? Now will you stop it?”

She fought as his hands tried to grab hers. She’d been so close to her target when he finally pinned her down.

“Why won’t you let me tickle you?” She pouted, complete with her bottom lip stuck out. “Just once. All I want is once.”

“Tickling is strange. I do not like it.”

She huffed. “It’s supposed to be fun.”

“Only when I do it to you.”

There was never any winning with Draco Malfoy. She pouted quietly, unable to stand the unfairness of it all, until he pulled her into a small spoon in front of his body. They fell into their usual rhythm as they laid. He rested his face near the heat of her neck, arms crossed over her chest as a shield, one leg over hers.

Draco fell asleep quickly. She thought she’d have to weasel her way out from underneath him to make it to her suite in time for curfew, but instead, the cloud of sleepiness danced overtop her mind, too. She was lost to sleep for hours.

She awoke to gentle kisses against her cheek. The smell of Draco and her was a welcoming cloud of heat.

“Mmm.” She stretched out. “What time is it?”

It was very dark within the room. Only a dying ember stayed in the fireplace. 

“I’d say about two or so,” he answered softly. 

She groaned. “Why’d you wake me so early?”

Her eyes shuttered close. It was too lovely in the thickness of his bed. She wanted to spread the rest of her night lost below the depths of the covers. 

Hermione snuggled deeper into her heated cave of blanket but was unearthed once more.

“Hermione,” he whispered in her ear. “I think it’s time for you to take a bath.”

“I don’t need one. And I’m perfect comfy.”

His lips caressed her cheek. “Come on now. It’s already run. I’ll help you.”

She allowed herself to be carried to his bathroom, a carbon copy of her own, and lowered into the bathtub without much effort on her part. 

The hot steam of the bath woke her from her sleepy state in soft waves. His footsteps retreated to his bedroom but came back so time later and slipped in the bubbly water with her. She was fully awake then.

“Where did you go off to?” Her voice was a content hum.

He settled in behind her. She felt herself pulled back against his chest, cradled in his arms, as bubbles lapped up around her collarbone. 

“Just to clean up,” he answered. She stole a questionable glance. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Clean up what?”

Lips pressed against her ear, he asked, “Why is it that you are never satisfied with my answers?”

She chuckled like a whisper. “Because they never tell me anything.”

They drifted into silence for a while. She allowed the warmth lull her back into a half-awake dream state as Draco’s hands rubbed her stomach in a soothing massage.

It calmed the aching below her flesh. The monthly cramps that always plagued her.

Waves of water splashed over the sides of the tub as she jolted awake.

How could she have forgotten? She was so stupid. One little attack from werewolves and all her common sense goes out the window. 

“What’s wrong?” Draco tried to touch her shoulder, but she pulled away.

She was too mortified to even speak. The shame burned. It was caged in a prison of fingers as her heart raced in total urgency. 

“I have to go,” she finally managed to spit out with some degree of effort.

He pushed his brows together. “Why?”

“Because I, well, I….”

“It’s fine.” A finger touched her hot cheek. “I took care of it. It’s fine.”

“I really should be going,” she said.

“You said you wouldn’t run away from me anymore. Remember?” His fingers touched the base of her chin. “I’m going to take care of you from now on. There’s no reason to be embarrassed. Let’s just go to bed.”

Water started to drain from the tub. The water line fell lower and lower on her body.

“But I don’t have any - .”

“I went over and got you some.” He smirked at the surprise on her face. “No time to feed my ego, love. I’ve gone cold. By the looks of it, so have you.”

She saw the puckered flesh of her nipples just as his mouth latched around one.

There was a twinkle of delight in his eye. “Better?”

She stumbled out of the tub after him, relieved that her favorite pajamas were displayed on his bedspread. The oversized shirt and flannel shorts were a welcome feeling in her exhaustion.

Draco welcomed her back to bed, tucking himself against her body with only one small change. His hand stretched across her lower abdomen. It relieved the sharp ache. 

They spent the rest of the night together, sure to wake up plenty early so that Hermione might slip into her suite unnoticed by the rest of the tower. Each readied themselves for classes alone but spent almost every waking moment together. 

When her ovulation neared, the pair was inseparable. 

Months passed. Soon blistering fall turned to frigid winter with the end of term near. Neither had discussed what it meant to have term end. It was an uncomfortable feeling to know they’d have to part.

The Weasley’s wanted Hermione in their home for the holidays since her parents were in Australia and Ginny was due home for the holiday, too. It’d made sense when the plans were made. She certainly didn’t think she’d want to still be in a tangled mess with Draco. Now, it was a test of her patience. The entire winter break at the Burrow was a stretch, but one day. She’d only think of it one day at a time. It was surely to be easier then.

Ginny was giddy for Christmas. It meant she’d be reunited with Harry. Hermione was glad for that, too. She missed her friends dearly. They hardly had any time to send letters in their training which was entirely frustrating because she wanted to know every aspect of what she missed. 

The day came so fast. Her trunk was due down at the carriages that afternoon and she hadn’t packed a single thing. In part, she couldn’t come to face the fact that it was truly time to leave.

Ginny sat, content as a mouse with cheese, as Hermione folded and refolded her belongings to fit inside the barrier of the trunk. Her hands trembled as she put a stolen shirt of Draco’s amongst her things.

“You know, I envy you and Draco,” Ginny stated.

Hermione froze. “Whatever for?”

“Harry and I never did get to have all that normal relationship stuff like you two. There was the war, and the fact he was always around. Never had to miss him for long. He’s always just been there.” She stopped bouncing when she noticed the forlorn expression across her friend’s face. “Why don’t you just invite him along? Doubt he’d say no with the way he follows you around. Must have a pussy lined in lace there, Hermione.”

She ignored the crass remark.

“He only has his mother, Gin. I can’t take away the only time they spend together,” Hermione explained. “She’s all he’s got left. I can’t force him to make a choice all because I don’t want to miss him for a bit.”

“Three weeks,” Gin corrected.

Hermione nodded with a loud gulp. “Three weeks. Right. Three measly little weeks. I can do that.”

She packed the rest of her things with the same reassuring words in her head. “You can do this. It is just a few weeks. It’ll be good to get some alone time. You won’t go mad. He’ll come back to Hogwarts just the same. Three small weeks. That’s all. That’s only twenty-one days. Easy. 504 hours without him. That is child’s play.”

Their denial had really gotten them into trouble. The night before, they couldn’t fall asleep. All night long, they snogged and shagged and talked like they were both due at the gallows the next morning. Neither said a word about leaving. Not once was the word ‘christmas’ mentioned. She couldn’t even bring it in her heart to mention meeting him in London for an afternoon. 

The time to leave was upon them and she wasn’t sure she’d hear from him for those twenty-one days, 504 hours. 

Filch grabbed the trunks from the tower not long after she deposited hers with the others. 

She still hadn’t seen Draco yet. Part of her was unsure if she could tolerate a goodbye from him. Her mouth had a mind of its own, and often asked for things she couldn’t control. There was no way she was going to beg him to spend holiday wrapped under a crochet blanket in the Burrow in front of an open flame. Christmas was meant for family, and he had his own family that required his time, too. It was not the time to be selfish.

Instead, Hermione opted to avoidance. It was simple enough. Ginny loved to drag her around the castle for Godric knows what. It was just a grand thing to Ginny, who apparently had to say goodbye to every single person she knew before it was time to leave. 

First was Neville. He and Hannah were going to be seeing each other over holiday. That was something Ginny talked nonstop about.

“Can you believe it? Neville? And Hannah?” She mumbled as they wandered through the halls. “He’s the last person I thought would be getting laid. I mean, besides you.”

She glanced sideways. “Thanks, Gin.”

“Come on now. You know what I mean. It’s like you’ve been a fake girlfriend to my brother for years, and the only time you even once tried to break from that was with Krum. What a choice he was. Can’t get enough of that dark look he gets. Ooh! Just the memory of him. How did it not work with him?”

A few younger students walked past, blanched and terribly wide eyes like they’d walked in on a compromising scene. Hermione blushed, and hurriedly grabbed Ginny’s arms to usher them the other way. The last thing they needed was gossip. The rumor mill worked overtime about those closest to Harry Potter, and Ginny supplied plenty of it herself, but there were lines they had to draw around most. 

A scandal was something _The Daily Prophet_ salivated for. 

Godric knew what they’d do when they discovered Draco and her together.

“You know he wasn’t my type.”

“Handsome. Strong. Older. World-famous Quidditch player.” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he isn’t anyone’s type.”

Hermione chortled. “Alright. He was appealing, and not for those reasons. He was kind, and so soft. I liked it then. I thought it was sweet.”

“The bad in bed part did you in, didn’t it? Couldn’t face a life of that guy flopping on top of you, could you?”

There was a sharp intake of breath like a jumping into a lake of cold water. “Ginerva Weasley!”

The red head enjoyed an exuberant laugh as she avoided decided blows from her friend. 

“Is there a time when something filthy isn’t coming out your mouth?” Hermione clutched her chest, beyond mortified that she’d ever shared her first sexual experience with a Weasley. None of them could keep their mouths shut. Ron was by far the worst. Ginny, however, was a close second. “I swear, not even a lifetime supply of soap could wash out your perversion.”

Ginny recovered quickly. “Hey! You’re the one with someone who’s just like me.”

“He is not just like you.”

“The hell he isn’t,” she snorted. “Malfoy is just as bad.”

The courtyard came into view. Students roamed group to group, bundled in their layers of coats and sweaters and hats, to say goodbye before the holiday. There were many of the houses outside.  
Hermione scanned the crowd. Her heart settled at the pit of her stomach to know he wasn’t amongst them.

“Ah, there she is.” Ginny pointed toward the outer edge where a lovely blonde witch stood.

They greeted Luna. Ginny started the conversation with a recount of what she’d learned from Neville about his holiday and was given a very odd answer in return. Luna was excited to head home for the holiday; her father made the best pudding, apparently. 

Hermione and Gin shared a knowing look since it was Luna. They all settled into a comfortable silence until Ginny spotted Romilda Vane across the courtyard and galloped off to speak incessant gossip, no doubt. 

Luna looked undisturbed by the exit. Her grey eyes looked at Hermione like innocent kitten eyes. 

On this day, the Ravenclaw witch had decided on the most subtle of outfits for departure: a knee length emerald green dress decorated like a Christmas tree, complete with a star within her blonde locks and tinsel wrapped every which way. Her stockings were brown like the trunk. Shoes, missing.

Hermione knew better than to ask. The witch had her own way of doing things.

“I’m close to finding their nest,” Luna said suddenly, looking up at the sky filled with fallen snowflakes. A gust of wind swirled a column above their heads. Sparkles of flakes reflected off the midday sun. “Won’t be long now before I get them.”

There were many things that frustrated Hermione about Luna before the war. It was impossible to make sense of what she spoke of, so nonchalant and unbothered by the things around her. Some days she wanted to rip Luna’s hair out for it. 

After the war, Hermione found herself admiring and perhaps a bit of envy toward Luna. How wonderful it must be to ignore the outside world in an ignorant bubble. Never worried, self-conscious, or second guessing every moment of life. To just narrow a world view to only what mattered in the heart. 

It sounded like a fantasy.

“I’m sure they don’t stand a chance,” Hermione added with a smile.

“I’ll not harm them.”

That was one thing they both agreed. Harming another innocent creature was an awful disgrace.

“Of course,” she remarked quickly. “I just meant that if anyone was searching for a creature, you’d be the one to find them first. That is what you are good at, isn’t it? Creatures. Animals.”

The blonde witch poked a pink tongue between her lips. Microscopic snowflakes barely visible to the eye landed and disappeared against the moist muscle as it waited for their cool embrace. 

Luna’s delight shown in her dancing eyes. “I am good at other things, too.”

For a moment, she thought she’d insulted Luna. She opened her mouth to try and assure the witch that she’d not meant it in a negative way when Luna spoke again.

“How is Malfoy?”

She blushed instantly. “Oh I – why ask me? I don’t know. He’s fine. Friend. A fine friend.”

“I do not think that is true,” Luna replied wistfully. “The Wrackspurts are clear when he is near. The bond you share must be very powerful to dispel so many at once. You, for example, are often full of them on your own, but with Malfoy, not so much.”

Wrackspurts were something that Luna always took very seriously. Though Hermione doubted their existence, she never said so to the witch in fear of what kind of evidence she might produce to thus prove their classification. Yet, an invisible creature? Even that sounded a bit far-fetched in the magical world.

“Is it that obvious?” She sighed. 

It wasn’t exactly a secret that something was between Malfoy and Hermione; their days were pretty much spent together. However, she figured it seemed like they were very good friends like she was with Ron and Harry. 

Sure, he possessively sat on her right side so that his left hand could hold her knee for every meal. And she did go to school Quidditch games and actually pay attention as he narrated every play for her.

Then there was the time they went to Hogsmeade and he paid for her books even though she had the money right in her hand, then carried them all the way back to the castle without the help of magic to do so. 

“Powerful can mean many things,” Luna said. Her words dropped the warming bubbles of Hermione’s memories. “It can mean enemies or allies. With Malfoy, it is difficult to decide which it is.”

“But. You’ve seen him all term. He’s changed.”

The blonde witch nodded slowly. “Change can be drastic. Change can be minimal. It is not so unlike the Malfoys to roll with the tide of favor. Perhaps his change is self-preservation. That is a Slytherin trait. A snake will smother a rabbit to keep itself warm.”

The last one to ever adhere to house standards was Luna Lovegood. That was why everyone called her ‘Loony’. 

Hermione groaned in frustration. “These blasted houses keep us so divided that we can’t see that we are all the same.”

“Similar, yes. We are all witches and wizards. Here to learn. But, there are many things that divide us on our own.” Luna gave a sad smile. “We cannot help who we are, Hermione. But trusting a snake can be devastating to a rabbit rather than a toad. ‘Tis it’s nature.”

“You don’t think…” She stole a glance around, afraid of what the answer might be. A witness was the last thing she wanted. “You don’t think I can trust him?”

Luna shrugged. “I do not know. At least a Flaggerwomp will you tell for sure. Once their nest is found.”

“What! Luna, no. I need to know.”

“You will, Hermione Granger. You will.”

A crowd of bodies moved through the courtyard with a loud hum of their blended voices, all excited for their holiday. Many first students ran forward. The ending of the term was an exciting time. It seemed as though everybody but Hermione was ready for it.

She was frozen in place with a chest filled with hurt and confusion as the crowd flowed by. Her thoughts didn’t comprehend that she should follow. Eventually, the Ravenclaw witch lead her off toward the carriages and trunks and exit of Hogwarts. Back to King’s Cross station.

The reception was lonely on the Platform. It was only Molly there. The rest of the boys were at work. 

Thank Merlin for small miracles. Pretending to smile was far too much than she could bear. Not one look at Draco, or even word of goodbye. He’d all but gone from the school without a breath. 

She settled into the taxi cab beside Ginny and Molly and started the clock of hours before she’d be back.

 

*  
Malfoy Manor was silent when Draco apparated inside. The hallways were black. Drapes drawn closed against the late afternoon sun. It was worse than when Voldemort lived there. The dark was more surrounding, suffocating. 

His childhood home was stagnant. Air, rotten with decay.

He marched through the halls and corridors, to his father’s office, his mother’s tea room, the library, the parlor. All were empty. 

Hairs on the back of his neck stood tall. He fingered his wand through his pocket. Malfoy Manor was a fortress. There was nothing that could harm any of them inside it. Not without an all-out battle. Still, his senses were on edge. He felt alone.

Draco beckoned his personal elf from her space in the kitchens.

“Master Malfoy.” The boney elf bowed to the floor.

“Where is my mother? Is she well? Why did nobody send word?”

The creature exclaimed “Oh!” as it popped back to standing once more. 

“The mistress left on holiday.” Waves of terror swept through the elf’s little body as it wringed his fingers over and over again. 

Air of the room sucked through his nose in a controlled breath. The beating in his ribcage stopped immediately.

Left. His mother left him. Alone. 

He rubbed his temples. “Well, when is she expected back?”

The beady wet gaze of the elf hurt him more. “She did nots say, Master.”

Of course not. 

Draco shooed the elf away with a wave of his hand. More than ever, he wanted to be left alone. 

His own mother hadn’t thought to stay home to spend a holiday with her son. First one after the war and separation of their family. Christmas was the only true celebration they spent as a family. Even his father knew better than to schedule business during Christmas. Lucius Malfoy would fill his week with nonstop meetings just to ensure his son was not left alone during a term break, the only time they saw their child until summer. 

Echoing steps like a bad memory of better times, Draco trekked through halls he’d memorized toward his own personal suite. It had a closet of unending space, a tack room for all his Quidditch gear, book shelves filled with plenty of interesting stories, and every personal treasure he had left. Yet, as he stared at the empty space, it was not his. 

Like a snake sheds it’s skin, he, too, was rid of his boyhood interests of Quidditch and World Cups and dueling. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to remember just how loved _that_ boy was in the Manor. A boy who eagerly waited for news of another muggleborn fallen to Salazar’s curse was wholly cherished within these walls. He slept in a bed of contentment. Every need fulfilled. 

That Draco was long gone.

Now, he couldn’t even have a single parent give him a spare moment to write him a bloody letter!

He threw his robes at the wall as hard as he could. 

For all his mistakes, he’d done the right thing in the end. When it mattered. He helped Harry Potter defeat the Dark Lord and thus save the entire world from flame. He did. He risked his own skin, the threat of complete torture under a familiar wand, just for a chance that the world might see light once more. 

Where was the thanks he got? In the streets, where they glared at him with accusing eyes? In stores where shopkeepers refused to do business with ‘the likes of him’? What about in the eyes of witches? The only one who gave a flying fig about his skin was the one witch who he wouldn’t blame hating him until the end of time. 

Salazar, he missed Hermione. 

He wanted her during the holiday. There was not a thread of him that wanted to face the forced glee of Christmas without her. 

Malfoy Manor was his ruined dreams, but it was her absolute nightmare. A place she’d been held captive and tortured. Every step nearer that room in the west end brought back the memories of her desperate screams. He couldn’t imagine what it’d do to her. 

So, he stayed his tongue and kept the bubbling temptation to run to her buried down inside his depths where the painted faces of his ancestors couldn’t observe. They watched him move through his home like a stranger. Some made remarks at his magic-less tasks. They called him blood traitor under their breath. 

News of his betrayal to their ancient beliefs did not rest well with the soul of Malfoy Manor. Those inside were insulted greatly.

Draco restricted his time to his own suite. And thoughts of Hermione. His witch.

Unrest boiled his magic. Their separation was harder than he first believed. Four days had him waiting at his window like an anxious widow. He stayed on the horizon. Any owls that flew through the grounds had to pass near. 

Time passed slowly in wait. He knotted his fingers through his locks once, twice, fifteen times before he finally tore apart his tie and shirt. 

She’d forgotten him!

Or worse.

His breath caught. What if something happened? 

No. No. He’d know if she was in danger, wouldn’t he? He’d felt it before. 

Still, the distance between them pulled at their bond. It was strained. The very tension below his touch was near visible as sparks and flame. The very outline of his flesh bound his magic in small confines, not able to seek and bond with hers. It felt as though he was torn apart in his innards.

The desire to be close was growing harder to ignore with each passing day.

Draco wasn’t sure how long he could last. 

If there was one pull from her, he’d go to her right away. She was stubborn enough to find her way into harm’s way again. A bloody Gryffindor inside and out. There was no doubt she’d find trouble with Potter and Weasley there to encourage her. She threw herself to their plans without much thought on what danger might befall her. 

As mighty as she was, she cared for others more than herself. That witch would look out for any one else but her own self. 

His foot tapped against the wooden floors. It couldn’t stop. The more he recalled their past, the more worried he became. 

Potter and Weasley knew how to care for her, didn’t they? She was their best friend. 

It’d be a lie to say it comforted him. In fact, it did the opposite by the mere insinuation that she needed to be cared for by another. Besides him. He knew how to care for her properly unlike her two silly friends. 

His witch had no problem with her things: carrying luggage, spells, school work, paying her way. No, Hermione was an independent woman. She knew how to hold her own. And yet, there were times when she fell into a darkness that even the brightest witch of the age couldn’t seem to lighten. She cried in her sleep. Sometimes flashbacks came to her reality, one she couldn’t separate. There were times when the insane high walls she built in the air of perfection and strength crashed down around her, and she needed someone there to remind her just how worthy she was. He did that. Always. He never let her forget it. 

Or him. She wouldn’t forget him.

 

*  
The silence of the Burrow was eerie. Hermione couldn’t remember a time when there were no boys that snored like grizzly bears or creaked down the hall to the loo, multiple times. The wind blew out in the night. It pushed against the weary walls of the strange formation that the Burrow was and produced noises of the horror kind. Her heart sped when a shrill scream echoed through the night.

Truly, the absence of the boys of the Weasley household was too strange for her comfort.

George stayed in London. He had a business to run. Though he promised to bear gifts in the morning in the form of the richest hot chocolate found in England. 

Harry and Ron preferred to stay in their own home, too. She couldn’t blame them. If she had her own place, she doubted she’d stay in her parent’s home if she didn’t have to. The house was not the place for privacy. 

The usual sleep accommodations were disrupted. Ginny kept her room to herself. Hermione slept in Percy’s. It was by far the tidiest, with little in terms of personal affects or anything unpleasant. Plus, there wasn’t a lingering stench. Just passing by Ronald’s old room churned her stomach. That smell had no place near her.

Withered boards stared down at her as she lay on a dusty mattress unable to do much else but stare up at the ceiling. Everyone else had since gone to sleep. Only her mind kept her in discomfort so that sleep stayed. 

She wiggled out of her pajama bottoms. No relief. 

One glass of water, a bite of an apple, ten minutes of deep breathing and a cooling charm did little to seduce sleep. It stayed out of reach. 

The pacing of the floor only led to the disturbance of breath, a sudden reminder that she had to be considerate, and she ceased in favor of twiddling her thumbs on the edge of the bed. 

If she was going to be wide awake, she might as well make good use of it. Her trunk was packed with fresh books from the library, ones she’d already read and others she hadn’t. Better to read something old, so that it might lure her to a dreamy sleep land rather than keep her engaged in fascination.

She snuggled below the layers of crochet blankets that scratched her bare, but her mind stayed focused on the worn words of the black book in hand. The words were a comfort. She knew them very well. Bavmorda Blatt’s personal script was as recognizable as her own at that point. The swirling edges of the letters rolled one word into another, sentences an eloquent rendering of not so eloquent ideas. 

Ravenous shagging sessions recorded in such detail. 

So personal and raw. 

Like the raw carnal things Draco and her did. The intensity of experiences determined by their emotions of the moment. It described every feeling that she felt when he was inside her, against her, magic just as tangled as the sheets. The open bearing of souls connected together in hard, rushed comings, extended only by the awe of their unbridled passion.

Sleep came sometime after. Dreamy luscious blackness.

A sudden crack hit the sky. 

The Burrow laid silent and still, but Hermione felt it so strongly, she roused herself from slumber and tip-toed toward the window. She gripped her wand in a trembling grasp. 

Death Eaters back to finish their mission. She felt certain they’d come for her.

Hermione plastered her face against the cool glass. She searched for fire. The memory of a flame through long grasses was easy enough to recall since she saw it most every night. A green, sickly sign in the sky overtop the Burrow was another. Her nose bent painfully as she tried to search for the Dark Mark. 

Nothing.

Dark spread out for miles around. Grassy fields bristled in the wind like a dancing wave of shadow under a lightening sky just barely above visible. 

Nothing seemed amiss. 

But she knew it. More than that. Her bones felt it. Something was different. 

A figure stretched out in the pitch black, tall and slender, topped with platinum blonde hair. One moment it appeared in a shadow.

She gasped. It was Draco! He was there, in the desolate fields like a freaking Dementor.

Gaunt and dull, the lack luster expression on his face rattled her bones. There was no time for stairs. She apparated into the blistering cold. Her knees went weak. Suddenly, she remembered that she was only wearing panties.

“Gah! It’s freezing,” she exclaimed.

Tingles of numbness crept up her thighs. She bet they were already blue. It didn’t matter; she was more excited by him. It’d been so long. How long had it been? Ten days. Ten years. It felt even longer then by the way he looked.

Her magic stirred at the mere distance between them. It demanded that she close it, yet his face was not so welcoming. She pushed the urge away.

“Are you accustomed to sashaying around other people in nothing but your knickers?” The expression was so cold. The fury in his eyes, so blazing hot despite their beautiful cool color. “It is a wonder how Potter was under the impression that Weasley was entranced by you. Or, should I say, your assets?”

Hermione was utterly stunned. “I do not _sashay_. For your information, I was unable to fall asleep so I thought it might help. I could ask you something similar about trekking around in the darkness alone on other people’s property.”

“I’ve not moved. My house has remained in the same place for centuries.”

Her breath came out in thick, white clouds.

“What?”

“You’ve been to the damned place,” he continued on. “You know where it is, or better yet, where to send the owl.”

The high of their magic was blissfully heightened. It surged like tiny tickles between her fingers and found that it raced to the bottom of her jaw where it settled in a defined set. Anger. Fury. It bubbled under her skin, down her neck, made it tough to swallow.

He was beyond rage.

“Draco, is there something wrong?”

He gasped. “Yes. Bloody yes, Hermione. Not a single word from you. Not one written letter from a witch whom I haven’t not spoken to in months. What, is that what I am to you? Just a shag at school until you can get back to your _realM/em > friends.”_

_“You are unbelievable!” She shrieked. “And what about me? You could have written to me, too! Or at least had the decency to say goodbye before you left.”_

_A frigid gust spooked up the edges of her long button-up top and promptly reminded her why panties were not advised for outerwear during the winter._

_He stole a glance at the house. “Potter and Weasley aren’t keen on sharing. Where are they?”_

_Hermione sighed. “Neither are you. They stayed in London.”_

_“London?” Again, he looked._

_“Yes. They’re all in London,” she snapped. “It’s just Gin and I. But that’s not what is important. What is, is the fact that you’re here in the middle of the night before Christmas eve. Did you come all this way just to yell at me for not writing? Because I could have saved you the hassle and just Floo-d to your place and raised hell about the same thing!”_

_He looked positively surprised at the statement._

_She brushed a few bitter tears out of her eyes. “I’ve got feelings, same as you. I hate just how horrid it is to want you all to myself every day.”_

_“No, it isn’t.” He cradled her face in his cold hands so daringly close to his own face. “It isn’t. You can ask for me. You can ask for me at twilight, or during a hurricane, or the eve of my death if you want. I will come. Always. I’m yours.”_

_“Stop it. Stop that right now. I do not own you.”_

_He shook his head. “How many times do I have to say it? How many times before you believe it?”_

_Hermione fell against him, shivering and weak at his touch. It ravished through the delectable parts hidden below her flesh with a raging hunger for more._

_More. More. More._

_The slick sweat of his chest smeared under touch as she slipped through the buttons of his shirt. His chest sank and rose in faster succession. The trail of her touch led down past the boney cage of his ribs, through the dry valleys of his abs and toward the taut cinch of a trouser waistline. The heat went straight through to that dense little nub poked against rose nylon._

_She stole a delicious look at his face. Once filled with frustration, now stained with yearning. Always the precursor to a guilty pleasure._

_Just the way he toyed the edges of her nylon stretch panties made her hole so moist and tender. In tender need of a good thrashing to way he knew how._

_She took his lips in a greedy kiss. It was hers, damn it. Ten days was too long away._

_“I’m still not done with you yet.” Draco pulled his lips away from hers._

_Godric, she hoped not. The hands cupped around her ass were not there for a friendly feel._

_“Oh yeah?”_

_His hands slipped inside her panties, caressing the dripping cream of excitement all around her folds. Her scent came to her a moment later, a nose full of lust and hunger. He smelled it, too. The bulge in his pants expanded just sharp enough to be rubbed through the fabric. He groaned when his cold hands reached through the zipper and withdrew his flesh into the cool wintery night. It was welcomed with the hot movement of her hands._

_“You seem to have forgotten just who you belong to.” His rapid breaths matched hers as they both worked frantically at each other’s pleasure without a thought to anything else but the rush of watching them cum. “What places are only meant for me to see.”_

_Two fingers pushed through her barrier. His palm thumped against her clit, hard, as he drove them into her over and over again, not deterred by the clawing at the back of his neck. She yelped, grateful for the cool breeze of the night over her flushed skin._

_There reached a point where she forgot everything. What she was doing. Where she was. It was just feeling that flowed through her consciousness. That rising wave deep within her belly. It felt so good._

_“That’s it,” he murmured in her ear. “Ride my fingers. Show me just how much you missed me.”_

_Hot breath at her throat. Cologne mixed with the sweet tang of her own pussy. The wave rose higher still._

_She felt the weight go out from underneath her, but was raised up against his hip, fingers still buried into her hot folds. Her eyes kept rolling back. There was so much more she wanted to do that couldn’t be done in that position. An impending blizzard did worry her some. Frostbite on one’s region was not an aphrodisiac. Draco’s region needed to remain in tip-top condition._

_Her wand offered an option. A small hole appeared at their belly buttons with a powerful pull. It sucked them through and placed them on the other side._

_It was the small room of Percy Weasley, long abandoned by much of anything but a squeaky bed frame and dusty wardrobe. Wooden slats as walls, unpainted and cracked in more places than one. No scene for any romantic novel romp._

_Hermione did her duty to the room. Silencing spells and protection wards were enough for their privacy._

_She subtly watched Draco from the corner of her eye expecting a sneer or condescending stare, but all he did was stare right back at her. He was there for her._

_It was an intoxicating high. “Now, where were we?” She grinned._

_“Pretty sure I was going to be convinced that you’re still my witch.” The look in his eye was carnal._

_If he thought he was going to be satisfied so easily, he had another thing coming. Hermione was a sensual witch in need of her own release. And part of the release came from their dirty banter._

_Hermione pulled at the ends of her braids innocently. “I thought I was a free witch.”_

_He went rigid. “You are.”_

_“Free to make my own choices.”_

_She rubbed her thighs together to fight against that burning urge to mount him in that delectable moment where his need for her was overwhelmed with his respect. It was alluring. His restraint.  
All she wanted was for him to lose it with her._

_“You are,” he growled._

_One agonizing slow step after another, she made her way closer to his hardened form. Draco was a powerful wizard, more powerful than most. And strong. His presence was commanding in every essence of the word._

_Her nipples pressed against the thick satin of her pajama top. Something he noticed with narrowed eyes._

_“But you choose me,” he growled. “You always choose me.”_

_She stretched her arms out and placed them on his chest. One eyebrow cocked in dare. Her lips, swollen from constant biting, pushed forward in a tiny purse._

_Anything to drive him wild._

_“And why do I do that?”_

_That was his breaking point. He’d grabbed her wrists in one swipe, pinned them between her back and turned her away from him so that she only felt him. There was just the painful tightness of restraint. His breath biting at the back of her bare neck._

_Then there was the thrill in her belly. She’d poked the white dragon in a loving taunt that he was more than willing to return._

_His teeth nipped her earlobe. The sultry voice came as a whisper._

_“Because I’m the only wizard that can put you in your place,” he said._

_Sweet tingles of sweetness burst against her core._

_Draco pushed her down to the bed with her face buried in the blankets as he still held onto her wrists in a taut lock. She tried to pull them away, but he refused to release._

_“Oh no,” he growled. “These are mine now.”_

_She whimpered after he smacked her ass once, then twice. It stung. The pain erupted a deeper burn inside her belly like a sudden explosion. Just like he knew it would._

_Her panties were pulled down to her ankles. His fingers thrust into her pussy with ease._

_He chuckled, satisfied with himself. “So you do remember who I am.”_

_Hermione struggled over control of her hands. She needed them, badly._

_“Oh, Draco, please,” she begged. “I need you.”_

_“You missed this cock, didn’t you?”_

_She moaned. “God, yes.”_

_His fingers pulled out of her warmth. She listened to him suck on them eagerly with a nice view of her bare ass bent over a bedframe just for him. It was remarkable how long he’d refrained. It was difficult restrained to not thrust her pussy backward and impale herself on his cock._

_It was beyond frustrating, how long he waited._

_Then, unexpectedly, her wrists dropped._

_Another second and a cock was thrust back into her pussy so deep that she swore it poked her stomach. She pounded her fist against the mattress with a satisfied grunt. It stayed buried inside, rolling and thrusting quickly. Perched right at the perfect angle was her clit. It went wild._

_He rubbed it with his fingers as he fucked her mercilessly. She bit back screams of absolute pleasure until she couldn’t refrain. The vibrations traveled down her spine. Even her thighs shuttered, trying to close on their own, but his body was right in the way. He kept his rapid pace long after she’d climaxed._

_There were bright red marks on her hips from where he gripped her so furiously as he plowed into her depths. Warm juice coated his shaft. It’d cut rivers down her legs as she came over and over._

_Draco was not satisfied. She was pulled by the braids until she was on her knees right in front of him, cock still in place in her pussy, body so melted from the intensity of the entire feeling._

_“This pussy is mine.” His teeth were gritted together. “No others.”_

_“Only yours,” she answered back so softly._

_He thrusted hard. His cock pushed so far inside her that she yelped from the sheer length._

_“You’ll always be here,” he said. “Say it. Tell me you won’t ever leave me.”_

_Exhaustion made her eyes so difficult to flutter back open. His pace picked up swifter than before. She felt the edge was near._

_She fought against the urge to cum again. “I’ll always be your witch, Draco. Only yours.”_

_He panted at the back of her neck, barely able to control himself. He held her with all his might, thrusting into her pussy like his life depended on it._

_“I love you, Draco,” she moaned._

_His grip instantly clamped on her hip. It held her in place as hot cum shot up inside her belly. She felt the heat slide through her in swirls as he stilled._

_He body went limp. He all but fell against her, wearied. Hermione laid him down to the bed gently, clearing away their juicy mess, and covered him with a blanket. His eyes closed._

_Something was so off about his energy. She detected the difference the moment he appeared looking like a body risen from a grave, but now she felt it for sure. It upset her. Whatever it was, Draco was clearly affected by it so much so that he’d shagged his frustration into her like it was his hobby._

_She watched the taut expression of his face change as his body calmed to slumber. The magic through the veins of her being snuggled herself alongside his body, touching every single place she could so that he might feel the bit of relief she was able._

_It wasn’t clear why. Magic spoke for itself and it said this was the way to heal him._


	12. Why

### Why

A silvery form glided through the thin walls of the Burrow, up around the swirling staircase and through laid wards to nibble at fingers that hanged off the bed toward the floor. They moved slight at first. The horse of silver energy nudged them again.

Morning light filtered through an icy morning on the English countryside. Small heaps of fluffy snow laid stretched over the grounds, well blown and tangled with bits of dead grass and leaves. Sheets of ice coated every window like frosted mirrors. They were encapsulated inside a snowglobe as winter blew in ghostly cold winds whilst the inside was blistering warm from a well-fed fire. 

The lovely scent of cinnamon wafted throughout the inside air. From the tippy top of the Burrow down to the oven, every soul inside smelled the ovens hard at work with their pastries and pies for the upcoming holiday. 

It was Christmas Eve. A day for family and cheer.

Ginny’s horse Patronus was sent up to awaken Hermione since there were a few wards that blocked the witch out. Wards were uncommon in the Weasley house. They were all too close for that.

With strict instructions, the horse did whatever it could to rouse the sleepy witch without making a sound. It pulled at her hair. Long tail hairs brushed over her exposed legs. Even a few loose lipped nibbles at the edge of her pajama top wasn’t enough to awaken her.

The horse gave a last bit of effort; it tugged at the blankets below Hermione’s body. Soon enough, her body slowly started to fall off the bed.

She awoke with a start. 

Wand brandished, Hermione looked around the room for sudden attack. The fact that it was Ginny’s patronus gave her relief. She collapsed back to the ground and closed her eyes.

The silvery horse sniffed at her forehead. She groaned. Ginny’s patronus was just as demanding as the witch herself.

“Yes, yes. Tell her I’m awake,” Hermione snipped softly.

Horse gone in triumph, she prepared herself for the coming day all while keeping the noise to the lowest possible. It was a rare time that Draco slept longer than her. She knew it meant that it was important. 

She showered, brushed her teeth, applied a straightening-balm to her wild curls, dressed in a Christmas red blouse tucked into a high-waisted golden skirt. It was a bit much more than she was used to. Ginny had convinced her to expand her fashion horizon since she had a wizard to impress. 

Hermione was uncomfortable so clearly being on display; her breasts were hugged tight and hips were taut in the pencil skirt. But the clothes were very beautiful. She toyed the dainty fabric of the blouse. When she saw it at Hogsmeade, she thought it was so bold and beautiful. Now, she couldn’t agree more. It was precisely perfect.

She crept down the stairs, relieving the silencing wards so that she might hear if Draco awoke.

The kitchen was in full swing when she came downstairs. Ginny was up to her elbows in pale dough. She kneaded, scraped the length of her forearms and kneaded again. Molly was at the worktop with a bowl full of apples. Ever so often she would turn around and instruct her daughter not to overwork the dough. 

It was so sweet to watch Ginny roll her eyes and remind her mother that she knew how to make pie crust since it was always her job when they baked.

There were only a few minutes where Hermione went unnoticed in the corner.

“Wowza. Look at you,” Ginny said eagerly. Her eyes grew wide. “I told you’d look hot in that. Mum. Check out Hermione. Doesn’t she look dynamite?”

Molly turned momentarily. “Good morning, Hermione, dear. You look lovely. Tea?”

“Yes, please,” Hermione replied softly.

“Oi. How come you don’t ask her for help the moment she steps into the kitchen? I might’ve wanted a cup, too.” Ginny dusted the flour from her hands. 

The Weasley matron just snorted. “You always make the pie crust, dear, didn’t you just say?”

Ginny snarled playfully. Her mother smiled back and took the readied crust from her daughter’s hands before it ended up on the floor. There was little trust could be placed in one of the Weasley children. They had a love for mischief that was the culprit of Molly’s gray hairs.

Tea was served with toast and jam while Molly Weasley popped out to her garden to pluck herbs for the day’s roast. 

Hermione and Ginny moved to the parlor, sipping quietly and eating their breakfast with a lingering silence that was most unusual. Neither said a word. They watched the fireplace, ready for a body to pop out, and waited for the Weasley mum to come back in with more instruction for the pair of them.

Neither of those things happened.

Finally, the silence had become enough.

“So, what time did he get in last night?” Ginny asked as she set her teacup aside.

Hot tea shot up the back of Hermione’s throat. She was forced to swallow it back down.

She dabbed the napkin at her mouth. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t play with me. I know he’s here.” Gin twisted her legs under her. “You never ward the door except with him.”

There was no denying the truth. What could she say? He did show up without invitation. Of course, apparating him inside was a makeshift invitation, even if it was just to shag. 

She hadn’t even gotten permission for him to stay over. Oh, Godric. What would the Weasley’s say if they found him here?

Hermione pushed her palm against her forehead. “Am I totally mental?”

“For what? Having a boyfriend?”

“No.” She exhaled sharply. “I brought him here without asking and let him stay the night. Won’t your mum be surprised – no, strike that. Won’t she be _furious_ if he’s here?”

The red head pulled her straight locks back as she rested her hand against the side of her head. “And you’re under the impression that they don’t know about you two?”

Hermione’s eyes grew twice their size as the realization crept in. She pointed an accusing finger at her finger who just pushed it away.

“Oh, please. I wouldn’t do that to you,” Ginny said before adding quietly, “if Ron hadn’t gotten to it first.”

“Ronald!” Hermione gasped. “Honestly. Will he ever learn to keep a secret?”

They shared a chuckle. There was some relief in it that the news was already broke. Hermione hated how cowardly it was, but there was incredible stress that pushed through her bones whenever the thought of disappointment came. It was not an easy habit for her to break. She wanted everyone to be pleased with her. 

Taking on Malfoy as a boyfriend was quite a challenge to that people-pleasing nature. It was an eternal battle throughout her psyche  
.   
How would her parents react when they learned of the news? She instantly started chewing at her bottom lip. That wasn’t a thought that had ever crossed her mind before, and she was well aware they would recognize the name from years of stories from school, not entirely in depth, but just enough for them to know that Draco was not a nice person.

“Why do you think Mum’s all in a tizzy about this food?” Ginny commented offhand, helpfully retracting from the mounting anxiety in Hermione’s blood. “Got to make sure it’s good enough for the wizard. He’s used to the finest elves that money can buy. Mum’s in a challenge to prove a witch can cook a much better meal than an elf.”

“That’s comforting,” Hermione answered with a sigh.

The reactions of the Weasley’s were odd. Often they reacted as a group filled to the brim with emotions. A pack of Weasleys made the most awkward moments more so, and the happiest of news was a great chorus accompaniment. Arthur wasn’t one to overreact, but Molly. She wasn’t so sure how Molly would truly react upon seeing Draco.

“You sure your mum won’t freak when she finds out he spent the night?”

Ginny patted her shoulder in reassurance. “After the stories she’s heard, I think that would be the last thing to surprise her.”

Hermione blanched. “Ginerva Weasley. Tell me you’re joking.”

“I must not tell lies.”

“Oh my Merlin. If you told your mother anything, I will single handedly curse your wand to only spit out water.”

It was mortifying to hear the snicker on Ginny’s lips. “What better way to separate the white dragon from your skirts!”

“Tell me you’re joking,” Hermione snarled.

When she wouldn’t relent, Hermione leapt atop her and started to wrestle, begging her to say it was a joke, which only made the red head laugh harder. They rolled around on the floor pinching each other and tickling without mercy, even as tears filled Hermione’s eyes.

The fireplace erupted with a green flame just tall enough to spit out a tall, red-headed wizard in a brown suit and a drink carrier in one arm. He stepped over their bodies without the slightest glance.

“Good morning,” he bid over his shoulder.

Ginny’s tickling stopped. Both girls were a mess after their wrestle. The red head had to comb her fingers through her hair to smooth it back to normal. Hermione’s skirt had ridden up high on her thighs. She picked at herself until she was presentable, which made the other Gryffindor smirk the entire time.

“Oh hush, you,” she said as she reached for the promised hot chocolate that George brought.

The hot chocolate was delightful. Hermione sipped at hers with unbridled thirst for its sweetness.

“And how was your night?” George asked after a few minutes.

“Hermione shagged Malfoy,” Ginny blurted. 

Hermione gasped and smacked her friend’s arm. It only encouraged the devilish grin to deepen.

“In Percy’s bedroom,” Ginny then added.

George snickered. “Only bit of action it’s seen.”

There was no name to describe the hue of red on Hermione’s face. It was entirely too wild to believe that her sex life was flaunted around the Weasley’s with such disregard. If such a rumor went around Hogwarts, she’d be accosted in the halls and shunned in the library. Aurors would be summoned.

So many distrusted Malfoy. He had been a dark wizard. He fought on the wrong side. Even through his recovery and redemption, there was little to save him in the public’s eye. 

Why were the Weasley’s so different?

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The first thing he heard was noise. Lots of it. And voices. One voice rang through in particular that captured his attention swiftly. 

“Stop it, Ronald. I worked all morning decorating these cookies.” It was Hermione.

He listened to her closely as he laid in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar house, with strangers near every corner. The house was full. The concentration of the air was evident enough of that. It was disturbing how close a family as large as the Weasleys lived. All on top of one another. 

Where did they go to burn off their rage? How did they hide secrets with walls so thin? Why was everything so worn?

It tensed his body as he took it all in. He laid there, unable to move. All he could do was listen to the happenings down below with keen interest.

“I can’t eat? Cookies?” Weasley scoffed. “What am I supposed to do, just look at them?”

“Go eat the cookies that Ginny decorated,” Hermione replied.

“What’s the difference?”

There was an exasperated sigh. “They’re for Malfoy, you git.”

It wasn’t the usual Weasley, or girl Weasley or Potter. The voice sounded familiar, though. The twin, Draco thought. 

“I can’t believe you brought him here.” Weasley sighed. 

“It’s the holidays, Ronald. It is a time for joy and cheer and being together and being thankful for what we have.”

Draco could tell by the edge in her voice that it was accompanied by a deadly glare. If Weasley couldn’t figure out a girl after seven years, the poor mate was hopeless. 

“Why can’t he do that at home?” Weasley whined. “He’s got a home. A big one. Why can’t he have all his cheer all over there?”

It cut to be reminded of all what he should have. Malfoy Manor was an ancient wizard house, yet it laid abandoned without a master to care for it or a mistress to bother staying inside it. A total rot on magic.

There was one glaring reminder he couldn’t overlook no matter how hard he tried; it was all he had. 

Without a family behind him, all he had was the tangible proof of his family name. Malfoy Manor, the vaults, the spot on the Wizengamot. 

“What’s it matter, Ron?” Potter, Boy-Wonder, finally added in. “We’re all together for a holiday. Can’t we enjoy it? We haven’t seen Hermione this much since summer.”

“I’d enjoy it a lot more if I knew why she even bothered to bring him.”

Anger laced through his fingers. Draco felt his magic swell with the urge to retaliate against the stupid Weasley. It was pathetic how little Weasley could deal with competition.

Draco stewed in his frustration a little while longer.

There was no way out of the situation. No one was at the Manor. He wasn’t leaving without Hermione. Hermione stayed at the Burrow for the holidays. That was it. As much as he hated it near Weasley, he hated being away from her more. 

It was the suffering he had to endure. At least it fit. He deserved to suffer to enjoy the spoils of the witch whom he cared for dearly. She was worth the discomfort. 

For her, he’d withhold every bit of rage inside himself until he exploded.

“Listen, Ron. I’m sorry that it is ruining your holiday to have your family’s celebration so interrupted by an outsider, but Draco is with me now. I want to have a holiday with all my loved ones, same as you. So that means Draco has to be here, too.”

“But Mione – “

Her voice raised. “No. I won’t hear it. If you don’t want him here, you don’t want me here then.”

“We want you here, Mione.” Potter sounded reassuring, which was good. By the shrill tone of Hermione’s voice, her emotions were close to the surface. “Malfoy, too.”

“I’m not opposed to a little bit of Malfoy company,” Ginny Weasley stated. He nearly chuckled aloud at the tone of her voice. “I could use a bit of excitement in my holiday.”

“Bloody hell, Gin. I’m your brother. I don’t want to hear stuff like that,” Weasley said. “Especially about the git upstairs whose tormented us, all of us, for years. You sometimes got it the worst, Mione. Don’t you remember? Of all the wizards you had to hook up with, why’d it have to be him? He’s foul, moody, always got a look on his face.”

Snickers. “Sounds like you, mate.”

Draco’s magic pulled at the magic bond. It called him to her. Her own magic was starting to swirl out of control. Lines of goosebumps traveled down his arms as magic gathered at his palms. 

There was a stomp against the floor. The creaky floor echoed it quite sharply up the heightened floors of the towering house.

“Honestly, Ronald. I can’t explain this to you right now. I still haven’t even told Draco.” That captured his attention more steadily. He wondered what her face looked like. She gave much away in those expressions in the heat of the moment. “But it’s serious. Draco and I. There’s a reason why we’re together now, and it isn’t just going to go away because you don’t like it.”

A knot formed at the back of Draco’s throat. 

That was different. For all her Gryffindor qualities, Hermione liked to fight their bond as a relationship. What had changed?

Cold sweat bled through his skin. 

_What changed?_

She was pregnant. Draco drew in a startled breath. Yes, she was. There was no other option so serious to stop a witch like Hermione so easily. They shagged like crazy. It only made sense that one time would break through the potion that she took. One time was all it took for a pregnancy to form. 

His palms trembled as they rested against his chest. 

Holy Salazar. What the bloody hell should he do? 

Get a ring. He knew that much. That was easy enough. There were rings upon rings in the ancient Malfoy family vaults. His mother had one chosen for him for when he found a wife, but it wasn’t right for him. He cared not for the style. Now that he had a particular witch in mind, it was clear that the ring was not right. It had to be simple. Hermione preferred the simple things.

She wouldn’t need a big affair either. They could run down to the Ministry to marry in an afternoon. 

Then came the question. What after? She couldn’t move into the Manor. There was no way he’d allow her to reside in a house where she was tortured. His child couldn’t crawl the halls where its mother bled. Screams of hers haunted him even.

So, they’d need a new home. 

Draco prepared a checklist in his mind as noise below his feet started up again.

Apparently the Weasley mother was inside. It was difficult to forget a voice such as hers.

“What’s all this?” It bawked.

“Ron’s just pouting,” the Weasley twin chuckled.

“Yeah,” Ginny said. “He’s all out of sorts because Hermione is with Malfoy now.”

The mother sighed. “Wipe that look off your face, Ron. You will be pleasant to Hermione’s guest because he is your guest. One sour word from that mouth will earn you a one-way ticket to your room.”

“But Mum. I don’t even live here anymore.”

“Nonsense!” The Weasley mother exclaimed. “I am still your mother. So you best do well to remember that. And you! George, I don’t want any of your tricks today. We’ll not be scaring dear Draco off with one of your wicked pranks.”

“It is only a little transfiguration vial,” George muttered. “It’ll wear off after five minutes. Tops.”

“There will be no more wild pigs running through this house so keep it corked.”

A chorus of Weasley voices booed the matron’s decree.

Brilliant. They all wanted him dead.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
A strong sensation pulled Hermione upward through the Burrow. She felt an awakening. More than that, she was attuned to the sudden change in Draco’s magic. It reached out for her like a beacon in a world of blackness.

He was perched on the edge of Percy’s withered bed. Only the fabric of the sheet covered his lap. 

There jittering of his leg and the faded look in his eye ripped at her innards. His energy was wild. It sparked through the air at her flesh, stronger than her ability to stand on her own. Her feet floated to his side. Their sudden contact calmed both their energies, although not completely.

Something was off.

“Are you sure you want to be here?” Hermione asked. She rubbed his bare shoulder. “You can go if it’s too much.”

“No,” he answered. “I want to be here. I do.”

“They aren’t that bad. Molly has practically made every kind of tart she could think of since we didn’t know your favorite.” She offered up a small smile. “No one will do anything to you. George promised no shenanigans.”

His hands dropped away from his mouth with a sharp sigh. “So glad to be a Weasley charity case.”

She touched his fingers, laced them through, and held them close to her lap. After one long breath, she found some semblance of reassurance through the chaotic screaming in her mind that wanted her to desperately stop in her tracks before she said something completely egregious. 

One look in his eyes said enough. Magic broke through every hardened barrier that begged her to stay behind. 

Draco was drawn at his length to be amongst her family, so it was only fair that she push herself, too.

“Let’s spend Christmas morning at the Manor, yeah? We’ll spend the day here and wake up to a Malfoy family Christmas.” Their fingers knotted tighter together.

That pulled him out of his daze. “What?”

“You can show me what your family does for a holiday,” she said. “I suspect its exciting. Got everything in the world, don’t you? Do your parents give you buildings now as gifts instead of the usual rich boy things like fancy shoes and new puppies?”

A flicker split his eye. “My parents won’t be there.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother went on holiday,” he spat. “She left no word. I don’t even know where she went.”

Hermione’s jaw set firm. “Your mother didn’t even tell you? That you would be spending Christmas alone. Alone! After everything you’ve been through? How could she – I mean, how inconsiderate. _Incorrigible._ The nerve of that woman to – oh! I’m so mad I can’t see straight. Honestly, the nerve! That is just…inconsiderate.”

Her voice fell quiet when she witnessed pain cross Draco’s face.

“I’m sorry.” She rested her cheek against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” she answered. “Still doesn’t mean I can’t feel sorry. I know how important she is to you.”

The magic calmed. It must have been what bothered him before. The reason why he came to her in the state that he did.

He was alone. Left alone. All alone in the world.

It was the one thing he hated. A fear she knew lurked down below in the warm fleshy insides.

“I’d still like to spend Christmas morning with you,” she whispered. “Just you and me.”

His brows lifted. “At the Manor?”

She shook her head. There was so much she felt blessed for even in her own dismal abandonment that left her parentless in England, Draco made that loss feel so much less. He filled her. 

Hermione kissed him gently. “Anywhere. As long as I’m only yours.”

Draco stood suddenly. The sheets fell away from his nakedness like a Grecian statue, yet her eyes stayed firmly set in his.

“Give me thirty minutes,” he said.

She frowned. The panic started to rise. He was leaving her. 

His hands clasped her face. “I want to see that sweet little ass of yours downstairs in thirty minutes to greet me at the door, and then when you’ve had your fill of Weasley’s for the night, believe me I’ll be ready long before you, we can leave. Together.”

“Promise you’ll be at the very least pleasant when you return.”

“When am I not?” He smirked.

One last kiss before he apparated did little to satisfy her need for him. But, it lasted.


	13. Oh So Many Explanations

### Oh So Many Explanations

“Well. Where is he? The sleeping beauty.” Ginny grinned when Hermione rejoined the group of Weasley’s in their main parlor. All eyes turned to Hermione. Noticeably alone. “Expect him to look quite beautiful after all this sleep.”

Ron chuckled. “Yeah, not any less foul I’ll bet. Two sickles he curses at least one of us.”

“Five sickles that it’s you,” Fred added with a cheeky grin.

“I’ll take that,” Harry said. He dug into his pocket and flashed the coins.

“Hey!” Ron crossed his arms. “Thought you were my mate.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “He’s not an idiot. He knows a sure thing when he sees it.”

The happy couple rubbed their noses together, much to everyone’s disgust, except Hermione, whose insides ached for her own half to return to her side for pleasant little comforts. His magic was a delirious drug. Not just a comfort during any time she felt the waves of uncertainty roll forward, but a high that curled her toes deep into her shoes. 

Oh, Draco. Why did he leave?

She pondered of where he might have found himself at the very moment when the room fell very still. It was not common for the Burrow. Several sets of eyes watched her, again, like she’d just screamed out her lungs in the center of the room.

“Sorry?” She blushed.

“Where is the wizard then?” Ron groaned. “Might as well get this over with.”

Hermione sighed. “Oh. Right. He popped out for a minute. Won’t be long though.”

“Where’d he pop off to?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered truthfully.

Amongst the savory sweet delicious smells of Christmas and the makings of her magical family, Hermione felt loneliness creep up her spine as an obvious python of depression. She never felt like that before. Not with the Weasleys. It was impossible to feel alone when they all resided on top one another in the cozy Burrow.

George’s girlfriend was there, as well as Percy and his own girlfriend. The house was jammed packed fuller than usual. Smiling face against smiling face. Gifts all around a puffy evergreen tree sprinkled with popcorn garland, reflective ornaments (previous gifts from Hermione to Arthur since they were Muggle decorations), a shiny yellow star on top, and branches littered with white snow. Enchanted reindeer flew circles. Little Santa’s bid merry Christmas as their overloaded sleigh’s delivered tiny presents on an imaginary route. 

Scents of the holiday were a comfort to her heart. They reminded her of holidays spent at home with her own mother and father. A special occasion for their family game tournaments and movie marathons. 

Warmth of past Christmas’ only sank so deep.

It was not complete. There was one face missing. An emptiness in her heart that left the moment sullied, gaped open. Lonely.

“Come on, guys. When have you ever seen Malfoy anything short of gorgeous?” Ginny snorted as their faces fell from cheer to question. “He’s gone home to make himself presentable. Obviously. He’ll be here in ten minutes with a grand entrance fit for a prince, looking like a prince’s _very_ naughty twin.”

That seemed to appease the crowd. Even Hermione’s spirits were lifted.

“It’s evil twin, Gin.”

“Not in my fantasy, it’s not.”

Of course it wasn’t. Hermione rolled her eyes and allowed her friend’s embarrassed boyfriend to whisper hurriedly, which made Ginny gawfed even harder.

Percy came to her side, eager to introduce his new girlfriend, the daughter of Diagon Alley’s bookshop keeper. It brought forth a welcome distraction. All three were able to engage about new arrivals, and praise-worthy reads. Hermione had to admit she’d fallen behind in her pleasure reading since the start of her eighth year. 

Then came so many questions about that. George was insanely jealous of the level of freedom given to the eighth-year students compared to his school days. It was absurd. There was no way that any competent teacher would grant either Weasley twin such leeway within school walls. The ancient castle would be burned down within a fortnight of first term.

Hermione hated to think about the travesty the school library would’ve been put through should George return to the school. No, she was very glad that he kept to his shop. It was a better suited outlet for his proclivity for mischief. 

Voices filled the walls of the Burrow, as it often happened when they were together. Laughter of Ron and Harry as they recounted some of their mistakes as beginning Aurors. George loved to pitch his new products for pranks, which brought forth some devilish grins from those of the Weasley red hair. It was easy to forget they expected another to join their party until a strange sound broke through the house.

“Oi. What was that?” Ron looked around; nose wrinkled in confusion.

Molly hustled forward, pushing Ron aside. “It is the door, dear. Come, come. We have a visitor.”

“A visitor?”

A look of incredulity crossed Ginny’s face. “Have you honestly forgotten already?”

Truthfully, the door was never knocked against because everyone who ever entered the Weasley home was welcomed as family and instructed to never knock again. Family did not knock. They entered, sure of welcome. 

Hermione wiped her hands down the side of her skirt. She was suddenly very aware of her appearance. Was it suitable enough to be see near a well-dressed wizard like Draco? He was much more handsome than she. There was no contest in such matters. However, she wanted to feel at least someone acceptable on his arm as a date. 

Shallow breaths turned her face red. She turned and whispered to Ginny, “How do I look?”

The red-head scanned her a moment. “He’s gonna love it.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. If you don’t get a wedding ring as a gift, I’ll be tempted to give you one meself.”

Hermione’s tension fell from her shoulders. That made it much easier to face Draco with Gin’s ridiculous thoughts in her head. Of all the things that could happen, a marriage proposal was the farthest out there. Nothing else could measure to it. Not even an all out brawl would surprise her.

Molly flung open a door. There in the doorway was a very startling creature. Dressed in slick cut gray pants, a white shirt and a (gasp!) golden tie, was Draco Malfoy. At least, it appeared to be. Hermione took a few solid blinks to be certain.

“Hello, Draco, dear! Come in, come in.” Her arms waved him inside. “Can’t have you catching your death on my doorstep. Happy Christmas.”

He was unbelievably soft-spoken in his thanks. Their magic bond spoke his anxiety. It swirled higher when he realized the undivided, silent attention all turned to his entrance as if the Dark Lord himself had joined the festivities.

Hermione was irritated by the Weasley reception. She elbowed Ginny promptly.

“Happy Christmas, Malfoy,” Ginny said with a grin. “Glad that your pet snake could make it.”

Curiosity turned to Ginny at the comment since Malfoy wasn’t adorned in any kind of serpent. While Weasley’s flocked to their sister for explanation, Hermione seized the opportunity, not without a deadly glare, to rush to Draco’s side, grasping his hand gently and silently thanking him for his return.

How much she wanted to ask after his whereabouts. It was like a dare to herself to not mention it. Madness of her curiosity plagued her mind as she considered the possibilities, and then became ashamed of how mental it was to be so concerned with his own private affairs. 

She swallowed the words back down. “Happy Christmas eve.”

He smiled down at her. “It is now that I am here with you. You look stunning.”

Her fingers caressed the soft material of her outfit. Draco’s eyes eagerly roamed over her attire without the slightest hint of bashfulness. Not that she expected any from him. That was all hers to have in thick blushes down her cheeks.

“Thank you. I wasn’t going to buy it,” she admitted. “Ginny convinced me to.”

“I’ll have to send her a _very_ thankful card.”

It wasn’t long before Hermione was invited back to conversation, Draco in tow. Everyone was curious in regards to Malfoy. Nothing he did was unnoticed. Harry bit back a smile when Malfoy was hugged quite exuberantly by a young Teddy Lupin, who was very thrilled to make a new friend. George watched the way that Malfoy cradled Hermione’s hand in his, careful to remain close and within touch, even when they were interested in other conversations. 

Ron was won over only when he saw the trained expression on Malfoy’s face when he opened up the gift from the Weasley matron. 

“Thought you’d escape this fate because you RSVP-ed late?” Ron hid his groan in a chuckle. “Nice try. If I knew it worked that way, I’d never RSVP.”

Both wizards were forced to put their hand-knitted, monogramed sweaters on for an annual picture of the Weasley and others brood. Both wore the same pained look as they beheld themselves.

All the Weasley’s lined up in front of the fireplace. Couples together in their matching sweaters. Hermione grinned joyously as Draco itched back and forth with his homemade gift. She wrapped her arms around him in a bear hug, giggling like a school girl.

“A matching Weasel sweater,” he mumbled. “It’s my nightmares come true.”

The most popular, handsome wizard in school was dressed in a Weasley family sweater, all for her. It was too much.

“Oh, hush. You’re still the most handsome one here.”

Christmas eve was a splendid night. Gifts were exchanged. Treats were devoured. Games of muggle and magical invention were played with some competitions turned fierce.

By the end of it, when it came time for everyone to go back to their own homes, Hermione was relieved that she’d be with Draco without an audience. Any time she cuddled into his embrace, there was a surprised glance from someone. Often from George’s girlfriend, Angelia. She was not a huge fan of Malfoy and was not convinced of his so-called redemption until she saw the relationship between the pair.

Still. It was not Hermione and Draco’s job to prove themselves to anyone. They were not a living exhibit. 

“I’ve never been so exhausted,” she moaned as they waited in the line for the Floo. 

“I’ve never heard so much about dragons.” Draco glanced over his shoulder. “That one. What’s his name? Carlie? It was all he talked of for thirty bleeding minutes. Dragons. I’d have stunned him if I thought it’d make a difference.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, too useless to engage in his rigid manners of conversation. She guessed it was probably better to speak with Charlie about dragons than it was about Quidditch in the company of any of the other ones. The dinner table was near at each other’s throats over the best Quidditch team in the world.

Bill, Ginny and George liked the Irish team the best. Harry, Ronald and Draco preferred Bulgaria.

Although it was matter of opinion, wands were almost drawn when the others team was insulted. It made for a tense dessert until Arthur was able to engage everyone in a fascinating (albeit totally false) story on the wonders of a Sham-wow. An adventure into Muggle London apparently forced a commercial to cross his path. 

Frustrations of the late hour and exhaustion gave the emergence of a heated conversation. Ginny had convinced Harry to stay behind at the Burrow, which left Ronald moaning about going home alone.

“Go home then, Ron.” Harry pointed toward the fireplace. “I’m not stopping you.”

“Wouldn’t be right if you stayed here and I went. Since we’re coming back here in the morning,” Ron said. “And you’re my roommate.”

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Then stay.”

“But my bed - .”

“Go home, Ron,” Ginny exclaimed. “You’re a grown wizard. You can sleep alone in your house.”

There was a soft grumble back. “I know that.”

Thankfully, it was Hermione and Draco’s turn to use the Floo. They gave their goodbyes. Molly hugged them both. She gave Draco an extra tight squeeze, whispering her thanks into his ear. 

Late was the hour when Draco directed their bodies through the Floo. She hadn’t even listened to the address. Her eyes were so heavy. She rested her head against Draco’s chest as they swirled through fireplace after fireplace, cradled in his embrace, and partly drifted asleep until they were push solidly against a fireplace grate of white marble.

She was guided to the bedroom, off to the side.

“Do you need to use the loo before bed?” He asked her.

It sounded awful. If she had to open her eyes for anything, she’d die.

“Godric, no. I’ll shower in the morning.” Her head hit a pillow and was instantly swallowed into a fluffy embrace. Her lips let out a primal moan. “Oh, Merlin, that’s heavenly. I’d never wake if I slept on one of these every night. Are these encased clouds? Draco, come feel.”

The bed shifted as he climbed in. His body aligned with hers. Their heartbeats slowed in pace with one another as they laid in the fluffy bed in total content quiet without frustration or anxiety. It was the peaceful tranquility that she wished for every night. 

One arm wrapped around her midsection as they laid. His hand spread against her abdomen in a gentle cradle. 

Hermione felt so satisfied. Cherished. Stable.

It was beyond what she ever believed possible for herself in the aftermath of the war. After the blood, and the gore, and the smoke, and the pain, and the dark she saw and felt. The struggling breath that she tried to regain as she entered Hogwarts once more. That sudden panic to the change inside herself and all the people she knew. 

Once upon a time, she never thought the world would ever turn right again. 

Draco Malfoy changed all that for her, in the most unexpected way.

Christmas morning came with the most blissful thump in her chest.

Light shimmered in through white gossamer curtains. Sparkles filled the very air all around her. The taste of magic hummed under her flesh, the delightful tingle down through her spine and under her fingertips as if she were to levitate off the ground. 

Hermione rubbed the sleep from her eyes, sure that it was all a dream, but it, indeed, was a sparkling room with layers of snow falling down. She held out her hands and gathered the fluffy white in her hands. It was not cold. Instead, it happily clumped into her hand until it amassed a mountain on her palms then it popped out of sight, allowing more to fill her hands once more.

As she looked around, she recognized the place they were: the Villa. It was a place overloaded with beautiful Christmas trees, twinkling lights, shimmering snow as a winter wonderland.

It had been so late the night before that she hadn’t even noticed they weren’t at the Manor. She assumed that’s where he’d wanted to return home to for a special occasion such as Christmas. All his memories of the happy winter solstice were at his childhood home. 

Hermione realized that she was being watched.

Draco sat on the bed, fully dressed, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes witnessed her reaction. A genuine smile changed his face as she beamed at him.

“Happy Christmas,” he said. He pushed a gentle kiss against her cheek.

“Did you do all this for me?” She held out her hands again and same as before, snow mounded against her flesh. 

“You demand a snowy Christmas, I deliver.”

She exhaled. “When I was a child I wanted a snowy Christmas. And I did not _demand_.”

“You specifically said that you cried when there was no snow on the ground,” he recalled. “For all the grief I am given for getting my way, it sounds like you were just the same.”

“That is not the same.” Her voice fell softer. “Snow on Christmas just made me happy is all.”

He kissed her reddening cheek. “And are you happy, love?”

Hermione was so blown away by the fact that he’d remembered her childhood story from nearly a month before and tasked himself with the making a white Christmas in a place that hadn’t snowed on Christmas in centuries made her heart grow two sizes in her chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck. The happiness had to be shared. Her lips captured his like a tornado, with power and seduction. She caressed her tongue against his entrance, but they remained shuttered tight. 

She pulled away with question.

He rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you muggles supposed to be in love with Christmas morning? I’ll bet you’d rather open gifts than shag.”

“So, you’re an expert on muggles now?”

“Only when it pertains to you,” he said gently. “Shall we partake in the abnormally large breakfast tradition or the unwrapping of the gifts in a reckless manner?”

There was giddy excitement that urged her to scream ‘presents’ but there was the other, far more rational and conservative part of her that demanded resolute strength. Despite all she’d been through with Draco, it felt so unnerving to see his cool demeanor. He hardly showed excitement even when she knew he was. 

Hermione trained in her expression to match his. “Breakfast, please.”

With a snap of his fingers, a small little elf apparated into the room with a large silver platter overtop its head. It was impressive that the fragile-looking creature could support such a heavily laden tray of food. But, to its credit, the elf gracefully placed the platter on top the bedspread.

“All the things you requested, Master Draco.”

“Excellent,” Draco stated as he scanned through the dishes. “It all looks fantastic. Give my compliments to Swiggy.”

The creature left in a cloud of thanks. 

Draco grabbed hold of the utensils, passed one set to Hermione, and pulled a steaming plate of chocolate-swirled pancakes toward himself on the platter all while she gawked at his complete disregard of the previous moment. 

He’d been nice. Without expectation. To an elf no less.

All her life, the House elf struggle was close to her heart. Poor abused and used creatures given next to nothing for their indentured servitude. It was barbaric. 

The magical community saw little change since the times of Merlin in terms of society. The down-trodden view of Muggleborns and half-bloods being proof of that. Magical creatures like centaurs and elves have been mistreated since the Middle Ages all because it was simply ‘the way it was’. Elves did not aid their situation by being so compliant and willing in their abuse, but abused parties were often that way. Better behaved elves were rewarded more, punished less, and held to high standard amongst the others. It was not their fault.

Dobby was a Malfoy elf. Once. 

His abuse was some of the worst she’d ever heard of. 

Her stilled motion caught Draco’s attention after a few bites of his plate. He turned to her with quirked brows.

“Did I get it wrong?”

“Huh?”

He gestured toward the platter of hot food. “Did I get Christmas breakfast wrong? I was assured this was correct. If it isn’t, I’ll get us something else. The one time I trust Pansy to learn something, and she gets it dead wrong. I’ll bet she did it on purpose.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Of course, it’s perfect.”

“Then what is it?”

Should she even mention it? Draco hated to be ashamed of himself.

But, how could she not mention it? He’d thanked an elf. He was pleasant. A creature lower than a pureblood wizard was greeted with pleasantness that most other wizards weren’t even accustomed to from him.

Hermione tried to shake out her thoughts. It was Christmas. A day for happiness. Not bitterness. There was no place for observations at his behavior like an ape in a zoo.

“Nothing, Draco. It is all perfect.”

A fork clattered against the platter. “I have a potion if it is morning sickness. Strongest kind a potioneer can make. I made sure of it.”

“I beg your pardon?” She gasped.

Morning sickness? Where on Earth did that come from?

His hands reached out and grasped hers, holding them tenderly against his chest. “You don’t have to hide it from me. I’m not angry. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or our child.”

She blinked once, then twice. 

No, it was not a dream/nightmare. The moment was too real. She felt his heartbeat underneath her fingers. The intense pressure from his gaze was real, too. It heaved her flesh under scrutiny. 

Hermione swallowed. “Draco, what are you talking about?”

“I heard you talking to Weasley yesterday. You told him there was a reason you and I can’t part.” He explained it so calmly like it didn’t scare the hell out of him. Just the thought of a baby, at the mess her mind was still in after the war, gave her a migraine. She was in no way ready. Nor was she even pregnant! “I won’t ask why you didn’t tell me sooner. After all I’ve done to you, I wouldn’t trust me either, but I have changed. I’m better than I used to be. Good enough to be a father. I know that. I can prove that.”

“I’m not pregnant!”

“Please, Hermione. I’ve already arranged it,” he pleaded. “I found us a house. A good place for a baby. A beautiful house for you. Nothing like the Manor. Once my mother dies, I’ll burn it to the ground so no one else can be hurt inside its walls. Anything you want, I’ll get it for you. And the baby. Just please, let me be there.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “You’re serious! Oh honestly, Draco! I am not pregnant. If I were, you’d be the first one to know.”

There was a long, heated pause between them.

“You’re not pregnant?” He finally repeated.

“No!” She exclaimed. “I wouldn’t hide it from you like some sort of sneak.”

He dropped her hands out of his grip. “I heard you with Weasley. I know there is something you’re keeping from me.”

She bit her bottom lip. The weight of her thoughts suddenly became too much to support. It fell into her open palms. 

On holiday, of all times, when they were supposed to be filled with bubbly innocence transported back to their youth in an evergreen-scented wind of nostalgia, was the absolute worst time to drop such a bombshell on a boy. She hadn’t had a boyfriend. Ever. But she bloody well knew that the thought of forever sent some into a panic. 

She nearly had a heart attack herself when she learned the truth from the head mistress. Forever was permanent. Forever was…forever. 

Draco Malfoy was not courageous by nature. It took much for him to stand in the way of scrutiny and rejection when he was otherwise expected to fall in line with others like him. He took it with a stoic unbothered mask, but Hermione felt the pain in his chest when others looked at him with disgust when it was once adoration. 

Neither side liked him anymore.

No matter how hard it was for him, he tried. He really did. The effort to remain civil was astounding. His affections toward her life-altering. Therapy was not magic. Magic was not even magic. All that power was inside him all along. In some way, it must have been more acceptable to him than most believed. 

But, love? In love with a muggleborn? Drawn. Trapped. Caged up by affections and lust that were beyond anything on the planet was not ideal for anyone, magical or muggle. 

There were lines. Some lines that could not crossed no matter how much they felt otherwise. Society’s lines through its population. Lines drawn at birth that cannot be undone  
.   
Hermione knew that Draco Malfoy was the one for her. She’d known for a while now. The Drawn experience opened the door, but it was she who dived headfirst into that feeling without the power to stop. All at once, it was love. Long before she admitted it, it was love.

She loved Draco. And so, she had to be prepared to lose him to the very essence that was him. 

His duty laid with family. On his shoulders were two ancient magical lines of powerful families that shouldn’t die out. The Malfoy’s and the Black’s. He was their only hope. 

She swallowed back a hearty sob, tears near bursting at her seams. It was now that she would lose him, forever.

“I discovered something about us a few months ago,” she relayed after minutes of silence and dread of which mounted the anxious swirling, pulling of Draco’s magic. He must have felt her sadness. It reached out and cradled her own unrest in the exact way it needed to feel pleasurable. Hermione rubbed her palms into her eye sockets. “I should have told you sooner, but I wanted to be selfish. Wanted you for a bit longer.”

When she peeked from behind her finger wall, Draco’s face met hers with concern.

She sighed, pushing the strands of hair from her face and raised her quivering gaze to his. “There is a reason why you and I are like we are. Why we can’t seem to stay away. Why our magics act the way they do, together.”

The beauty of him was too difficult to deny herself. She slipped her hands against his cheeks. His heartrate jumped at her touch. Ever so slightly, he pulled away.

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re cursed by some kind of ancient thing,” she said. “The second our skin touched, our magics grew, well, addicted to one another. We can’t stay away. Neither of us will ever be able to find another person because of this curse. Our magic will always demand the other.”

It was not met with amusement. Draco leapt to his feet.

“We’re cursed and you didn’t even tell me?” He snarled. “And you’re supposed to be brilliant.”

She hanged her head. “I know. I’m so sorry, Draco. It was wrong to keep it from you.”

“There has to be a way to undo it,” he said. His tone was firm.

Undo it. That sounded right. 

It was what she expected to happen. She knew he’d want to be rid of her. It just hadn’t seemed possible in her mind. A piece, a shred of a sliver said that he wouldn’t be so eager.

She was a muggleborn. He was a pureblood. Worlds apart. Worlds not meant to intersect in his family’s mind.

Hermione felt that blistering urge to correct his need to rid himself of her filth and mark it as dated and barbaric. Muggleborns had every right to live. They belonged to magic, too, same as he. But that wasn’t what he meant. 

He meant they just shouldn’t be together.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’ve done all the research I can. There is only one book, I swear. I’ve looked for counter curses and spells to reverse the effects. I really have tried, Draco.”

Draco looked angry. All bottled up with frustration, unable to even look at her. Like she’d done so on purpose just to capture him in some kind of sex net. It was not her fault!

Magic was magic. There was no way to will it away. Control over magic was limited, at best.

He kept his attention clouded in his thoughts as he angrily stomped back and forth at the foot of the bed. Stormy gray eyes plastered to the floor as he stepped. Magic in bright red clouds around him. Rage. Anger. Irritation. She felt in coming in waves. It pushed shame deeper.

“I’ve researched all I can. Bavmorda only kept the one bloody journal. It’s all that’s out there for answers.”

The continual pacing of Draco’s feet against the stone floors stopped.

“Bavmorda?” He questioned. “As in, Blatt. Bavmorda Blatt?”

She dug through the satchel at her side filled with all her worldly possessions. A bad habit after the war that she couldn’t rid herself of. It saved her too many times. 

Her arm pushed through the opening and dug around for the worn black journal. It was not difficult. She’d read it at the Burrow two nights before. 

Hermione pushed the book into his hands. “She says we can’t, but I think the pair of us could fight the effects. It would just require strength on our part.”

He didn’t even peruse the book. Not even the slightest curious glance. It fell to the bedspread, splayed open.

Draco climbed back onto the bed, ever so slowly back to Hermione’s side. His eyes stayed in hers.

“Hermione,” he breathed.

She watched his hand reach out for her through the air. For a second, her heart wanted to take it.

Then it reminded her of what was happening. 

Face ducked against her knees as silent tears drained from her eyes, Hermione was blind to his actions. It drove her crazy, the seconds of silence afterward. Complete and total silence. No motion. No breath. She almost thought he’d apparated away when two gentle lips caressed the back of her neck so gently. Two strong hands massaged her shoulders down to the relaxed position. Hot breath underneath the neckline of her blouse.

“Hermione, is that ancient curse you mentioned called Drawn?”

She nodded.

Again, his lips kissed her flesh. “You know, it is not actually a curse, don’t you?”

“We are not given a choice in the matter,” she huffed. “Seems a curse to me.”

“Why? Because you do not love me?”

Her breath caught. “N- no. That’s not why.”

“Then it is because I may not love you back that you are so scared.”

Hermione jerked. Her head raised; eyes flared with some kind of challenge.

“I am not scared.”

He leaned back onto his elbows and smirked. “You are too easy to tempt, love.”

Of course, it was to get under her skin. The damn prat. She’d just went through psychological torture while he made a game of it. 

Her lips set to a frown. “You’re awful damn cavalier about the fact we’re to be together. Forever.”

“That is because I trust in magic,” he stated. “If my magic tells me that I need you, then I do. I won’t question it nor go where it feels wrong. Ever. And you’ve not once felt wrong. If anything, you are the only thing in years that has felt right to me. You expect a fight when I find a miracle. Even if Drawn is just a fancy explanation of love.”

Hermione shook her head. “It isn’t just ‘love’. Bavmorda clearly states that it’s more than that.”

“She was a quack,” Draco retorted. “All she did was invade people’s privacy to discover the reason of love. It is a ludicrous search. There is no source of love nor ancient magic behind it. No outside force pulls people together, Hermione. Not even in magic.”

“But we - .”

His face softened. “I love you. I haven’t bloody said it because I thought you knew, but clearly if you think the only reason I might be with you is because of some old witch’s pervy research, I should put it into known terms. I love you.”

“All of her research made sense. It’s all right here.”

She fingered the well-known pages over and over again. Every word. She knew exactly what it was. Every description of what she felt. It fit. The stable answer to what happened to her.

How could it just be love?

“No. There is something else to us. We aren’t just like everybody else,” she declared. “We’re different. I know it in my heart. I love you, Draco, and not in ways that are typical. I feel your feelings. Our magics are a stream to which feed us both. I’m drawn to you when you need me. That isn’t natural. Wizards don’t sense danger in their girlfriends. Harry couldn’t tell when Ginny was endangered. And they’ve been in love forever. Yet you felt my danger in the woods, somehow let it lead you there and helped me survive. That isn’t normal. The war would have been very different if that had been so.”

“Don’t be daft. I know we aren’t like everyone else. I’ve had girlfriends, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.” She crossed her arms.

He tilted his head. “The point is moot. I’m not fighting this, are you?”

His question disarmed her. She struggled to find a sharp enough reply to keep the conversation going.

They were bewitched to be in love with each other, eternal! That was huge. Momentous. 

“No.”

“Then what does it matter?” He shrugged. “I will not surrender you on principle.”

“Oh, no. You’re much too self-indulgent for that.”

There was relief in their next breaths. Hermione was saved from the horrible guilt of secret keeping. It was a tangled mess of thoughts in her mind to predict his reaction to the news. She partly believed her blood status to still bother him enough to reject the idea of relationship altogether. That was a deep shame. He was different; he’d proven that time and time again. The little voices of herself kept their song strong with words of unforgivable scrutiny of herself and the undeserved nature of her newfound love.

She was far too plain for a wizard like him, whose shoes and clothes outnumbered her collection of beloved books far into the realm of a small fortune whereas her wardrobe was sparse and practical.   
Her hips were too narrow. Eyes not big enough to be considered pretty. Just one glance sent her curls into fright, frizzed in every direction. The flesh of her breasts were slim yet saggy. They gave her little dimension in blouses. Sweaters were her favorite thing to conceal the fact that she was given little in terms of femininity.

The only place she exceeded Draco Malfoy was academics. It was a race that she won throughout the entire school, but he was still on her heels with the second highest grades. Even her intellect was a short coming compared to him. 

Draco’s arms wrapped around her as she dove deeper into the pool of self-doubt. She’d fully expected the revelation of being Drawn to end all of the feelings between them like a scissors cut through paper. Now she was stunned as to what they might do next.

“You’re really not pregnant?” He murmured against her ear. “I prepared so many things for Christmas based on that assumption.”

A few stray tears crept from the corners of her eyes as she smiled. “You should know better than to question my potion skills since my marks have always been higher than yours.”

A snort of indignation warned Hermione that she’d struck close to a nerve.

“I am not pregnant,” she stated.

“Then I will need to find you some new gifts.”

Her brow wrinkled. “Why? What kind of gifts did you purchase?”

“Purchase is a strong word.” 

The deflection did not miss Hermione’s ear.

“That is not an answer.”

“You’re right, love. It is not an answer. More like, a clarification.”

Hermione pulled away from his grasp. For the first time since she’d awoken, she stood on her own two feet and marched toward the main room where rows and rows of gifts were lined underneath an enormous snow-white Christmas tree.

It was exactly the way she’d described her childhood favorite tree that caught on fire in her parents living room and had to be put out by her father. 

“All this? For just me and you?” She gaped. “There have to be fifty presents under that tree.”

“Fifty? You must truly think highly of yourself. There are only thirty-three.”

Her jaw dropped. Thirty-three gifts! For one person? It was ridiculous.

“Well, plus one more. It wouldn’t fit under the tree, though,” Draco added.

“What on Earth wouldn’t fit under this tree? An elephant. A three-ring circus. The entire Northern sect of England.”

In all her life, she’d never seen such a stuffed tree. Glittering gifts sat in a rainbow expanse of wrapping paper, perfectly bowed with curled ribbons and giant nametags. It was all so beautiful and indulgent and everything that Christmas was, but was still so over the top, she felt faint.

Draco scoffed. “You take me for a king? No, it is a modestly sized castle in Surrey. Hardly king material. Perhaps a prince and the like.”

There was no holding back the look of utter disbelief that she felt as his words sunk in through her holiday thoughts.

“What?” She exclaimed. “A _castle_? In Surrey. You’ve gone lost it now, Draco. You really have.”

“It was for us and the baby.” His tone said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if gifting a girlfriend of a few months a castle was common practice. “A safe place to raise a family in a place that isn’t magical. At all. Muggles are all around it. Not once was a Death Eater in it. I even checked the schools around it. Muggle schools. They are very good, I’ve been told. Some of the best.”

What about this situation seemed the strangest was the casual tone in which Draco referred to the place.

Surrey. One of the richest neighborhoods in all of the United Kingdom. A place where having a ‘modestly sized castle’ was not unusual. 

“Of course, the schools are the best! It’s Surrey!”

He wrinkled his nose. “What are you so angry about? We are not going to reside in the Manor. That’s completely out of the question. Surrey is the best logical option. Do you not like Surrey? I can find another residence, if you wish, but the safest place would be at Reigate Castle. The wards are very strong.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” She questioned, taken aback. “We’ve only been dating a few months now. Shagging for the most of it. We’ve not even told your parents. My parents have no idea. I can’t just show up and announce that I live in Surrey, in a castle, with a boy from school. They’ll think I’ve gone mad.”

“We’d be married, of course.”

In all the ways she imagined a marriage proposal, that was not it. Not in the slightest.

It stung her heart to even say the words, “How could you even think that’s what I want?”

“I thought you were pregnant. What else was I supposed to do? Let you carry a child, unwed? Do you know what they make of unwed mothers in London? _The Daily Prophet_ would have a field day of you, Hermione. Everyone you’d ever meet would know. They’d judge you on first sight. Without listening to a word you’d say… No, that’s unacceptable for a witch like you. You can go so many places. Change the entire Ministry if you wanted, and I know you do. There is no hope for that kind of future if it’s been tainted by my bastard offspring.”

“Why couldn’t you just talk to me? Ask me, in the very least.”

“Because I didn’t want to hear that I wasn’t what you wanted!” He shouted.

Like all the air had been sucked from him, Draco fell to a couch in a defeated mess. Platinum blonde hairs splayed against the back of the couch, blended in with the white fabric and stayed unkempt as he laid. The emptiness of his eyes stared up at the ceiling. They did not move. Just stared straight above him without care of what he saw.

Sadness ripped and ripped away at the hearty flesh of her heart muscle as she approached the couch, careful not to disturb the silent air around them. 

She hadn’t realized just the amount that he carried in his mind. He tried to do too much. Their relationship had worn him out for all his worrying and protecting and plotting.

Hermione was sad for him, but also, so amazed.

The space beside him was filled with her presence but not her words as he sat in his unmoved defeated mess. He stayed in his unkempt quiet manner for longer than she thought he would. She’d started to feel that it was her turn to say something, but his lips parted first.

“I want to be enough for you, Hermione. Be that man that you should be with.”

She caressed his wrinkled forehead with her thumb. “You already are.”

He casted a dissatisfied look which expressed his doubt. Her heart lurched. She did not like him that way. He was confident, collected and so powerful. Draco was a wizard who stayed true to himself even in the face of everything being against him. After enduring his childhood, then the war, then the trials, then the rejection and freedom, he’d stayed himself. 

That was admirable. She wished she was the same way.

“Do you know why I love you, Draco? The exact reason why?”

In his silence, Draco shook his head.

“It’s because of how you make me feel. It’s not because of your money, or your looks, or your outstandingly pleasant personality, it’s because you’re always the one to think of me first. You don’t try to hold me down or make me something I’m not,” she explained. “It’s like, you only think of me and ways to make certain that I’m completely satisfied and safe without clipping my wings.”

Although he still remained quiet, his body found some live in itself. He straightened in his seat. One swipe to his hair got it back into place. Eyes fallen from the ceiling to Hermione’s hands as they held his.

“I don’t want you to try to be anything you’re not,” she said with a soft kiss against his cheek. “Who cares if Ron doesn’t like us together? Or the papers smear me for being with you? All of London might hate it, but that doesn’t stop me. It didn’t stop me before.”

“I don’t want all of London to hate you,” he replied softly.

“Then sway them otherwise,” she teased. “From what I remember, your family always had a way with the papers.”

Finally, a look of amusement crossed his face.

“Wouldn’t think a self-righteous Gryffindor would support such behavior.”

“It’s the _Prophet_. Absolute rubbish. Can’t trust a single believer of their headlines anyway.”

They cleaned up the mess of presents that Draco had created for the pair under the assumption they’d be new parents and apparated them back to wherever he’d gotten them from. Breakfast was cold by then so it had to be warmed. 

Crossed legged on the bed, they ate away at their bountiful breakfast until they were stuffed tight. 

They snuggled together on the snow-covered bed ready for a winter’s nap. Breaths grew slow. Hermione rested her cheek against Draco’s chest as his arms pulled her taut against him.

Sleep started to fade into their eyes.

Hermione gave one last attempt to set things straight. “I swear I’m not pregnant. But if I were, I’d be happy if it was with you. You’ll make a great father.”

A smile ghosted cross his lips. Arms pulled her closer.

“I love you, too,” he breathed just before his breaths turned to light snores.

Hermione fell asleep not long after him. A cloud of happiness like no other stretched long over her typically anxious mind as thoughts fell away to make room for dreams. 

It wasn’t until the motion beside her in bed brought her back to ‘on’ again.

“What is it?” She asked Draco, who now sat totally upright in bed.

Then she heard it. A voice floating in through the Villa on a dignified height of self-importance.

“As you can see, the elves are quite festive on our properties. Every one is prepared in the holiday season should we decide to stop by for a party or two,” the soft-spoken voice announced as clicks connected with the stone floors. “Those windows look out over the street. It is a stunning view. Not as remarkable as the view from my flat in Paris, however.”

There was a soft hum of consensus from another voice.

Before either of them could process what to do, the doors to the bedroom flew open. The air changed as in walked the taut lipped look of surprise from Narcissa Malfoy, herself.

She gazed at Hermione and at her son, tangled in each other’s grasp in obvious connection to the nature of the encounter.

On toe, she spun around and marched out to speak more with her guest. Hermione listened carefully as she tried to usher the guest away. 

Draco adjusted his clothes, smoothed down his hair and pulled on his Oxford shoes. He bent over the bed and planted a kiss on Hermione’s cheek.

“Give us a minute, will you?”

She nodded, almost overjoyed that she wouldn’t have to face his mother. Narcissa was a powerful witch. Intimidating. Regal. Far more beautiful and more deadly than any other alive, for certain.

“You won’t leave, right?” She asked.

He pushed his forehead against hers. “I’ll be right back.”

The hurried clicking of heels said that was not going to happen. They made a line straight for the door, still thrown open wide. Hermione made sure she was presentable. For good measure, she pulled her skirt down lower on her thighs.

Draco stood by Hermione’s side, almost in front of her as his mother entered the door.

“You are lucky that I am above reproach, Draco, or else it might have been damaging to find my son in bed with a young woman right in front of Mrs. Greengrass,” Narcissa chastised. Her hands touched the edges of her curls. “No matter. The woman is too meek to truly speak ill of anyone.”

Like she suddenly remembered who she addressed, Narcissa picked at the bits of Draco’s relaxed attire. A noted frown crossed her lips as she observed it. 

As for herself, she was donned head to toe in the finest robes, dress and jewelry offered in the magical world. Even the heels of her boots were five inches high. 

“How are you, darling?” She asked as she brushed off the shoulder of his shirt. “I’ve not heard from you in a while.”

“I could say the same for you,” he answered with. 

Her eyes turned sharp. “Do not take that tone with your mother, Draco. It is unbecoming.”

He clicked his jaw open and shut many times before he decided to keep it clamped closed.

“You must have had quite the party seeing as this is the aftermath.” Narcissa seemed amused by the state of the Villa and her son. She’d not even acknowledged Hermione in the bed yet. “I’ll trust you to rid yourself of the harlot and come back to the manner for Christmas dinner. As is tradition.”

A sharp blush took Hermione’s cheeks. Harlot was quite a condescending word from the mouth of a Death Eater’s wife and sudden born believer of the just cause. She’d only switched to save herself. 

_But that’s how Harry survived_ , Hermione’s thoughts chided. She forced her lips shut.

“Mother, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend. Hermione Granger,” Draco announced as he gestured toward the bed. “Surely you remember her.”


	14. Something You Don't Know

### Something You Don’t Know

She gasped around like a drowned fish. Her cheeks filled with air, bloated farther than a puffer fish. Then all of the sudden, her hand shot to her chest as a beaming smile crossed her lips. She shook with hearty laughter. Bits of her jewelry clinked together as her chest heaved from amusement.

“Oh, darling. That sense of humor of yours.” She wiped the corner of her eye. “I’d almost forgotten what it was like.”

Narcissa finally took the time to greet the guest. “Whatever he’s paid, I’ll give you double. You are quite the actress, Miss Granger. For a moment, I almost thought I’d walked into a nightmare.”

The woman reached for her purse. A stark white hand grasped it before its reach landed upon the slight coin purse clipped in her pocket.

“Hermione,” he said. “Please forgive my mother. She’s lost all her manners.”

His clipped tone left Hermione quiet. It was not a true address to her, but merely a show to his mother. He was insulted by her assumption that he’d pay a muggleborn witch to scare his mother just for laughs. Of all the things that Draco Malfoy was past and present, it was not self-depreciating. A compromising situation was a disaster to him.

True to the nature of a Slytherin prince. A disaster was leverage in the right minds. One that any Slytherin would know to take advantage of should the timing be right.

Draco never allowed Hermione to be seen in a state that was damaging to her reputation. He awoke her when it was time for them to part ways. When she crept out of his room in the wee hours of the morning, he’d keep watch with a wand in his hand. She chastised him many times for taking such a foolhardy approach (it was something that reminded her of Harry and Ron’s impulsive behavior, not that she had much room to talk since it was her own impulsive nature that led her to Draco), but in the eyes of the ever-alerted wizard, protection was everything. 

Her protection.

Narcissa was a fellow Slytherin. Not to mention, his own mother. Draco’s nature should be all too known to her.

The blue eyes of the witch narrowed as she beheld her son and his indignant tone. “Son, may I have a private word with you?”

He was silent. Fists formed as his sides, turning white with tension, until they finally fell flat.

“Fine,” he said.

His mother left the room with a nose held high in the air. Hermione bristled with irritation that she was not so welcome because of her blood status after she’d just went through the trouble of testifying for the woman in front of the entire Wizengamot to spare Narcissa and Draco from Azkaban. Sparks practically jumped from her fingers. 

She avoided Draco’s gaze as he knelt down closer. He read her like a book. It was too easy for him to absorb all her dark thoughts, ones that carried shame and pride all at the same time. 

“I won’t be long,” he muttered.

“What are you going to say?” She picked at her fingernails. “About us, I mean.”

Draco tilted his head with a smirk. “The truth. Tastefully edited at my discretion.”

His attempt at humor shot discomfort through her limbs.

“You don’t owe her anything, Draco. No explanation. It isn’t her business,” Hermione whispered frantically. “There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I am not ashamed of you,” he answered quickly with a cross look. “But, she is my mother. I do owe her something. We are a family. Same as your Weasels and Potters are to you.”

“But they didn’t offer to buy you off to leave!”

“Like they could afford it.” Draco snorted.

Her face fell in her hands. “That’s not funny.”

“Not funny. Maybe witty.” He had been enjoying poking at her nerves a bit until the fire in her eyes turned on him. “Things are going to be fine, love. I’ll be right back.”

They parted with a soft kiss, although she wanted to turn away from it. Bitterness coated her tongue. It was not so directed at him as it was at her own jealousy that she allowed to take control of her mouth. 

His mother. It was his mother, for Merlin’s sake. The only anchor that kept him afloat in the world. The rest of his family was gone. Lucius was in prison. All his grandparents were long dead.

The relationship between Narcissa and Draco was strong. It always had been. Everyone knew that.

Rejection of his mother stabbed its way through her densely constructed walls deep alongside the deep love that she felt for Draco. She wouldn’t allow herself between them. She couldn’t. Losing a family was a wretched existence. Draco was only family. Family was everything. To turn a back on the only person you knew loyalty was would leave him a torn shell of a wizard, even more self-hating. 

There was darkness inside. It lived alongside his magic as a lifeblood. Buried deeper than any other part of him. And it was that darkness that concerned Hermione more than anything.

Draco killed pieces of himself for the ones he loved. Over and over. Little bits of his life withered away by allegiance to the wrong sorts who cared not for his wellbeing.

Hermione swallowed. That would not be her. If it came between his mother and her, she’d step aside.

A hollow ache ate away at her nerves with an insensitive flame. A life without Draco was a painful existence, too difficult to even picture. 

The doors closed to the bedroom as Draco left. They clicked shut. Hermione took out a set of clothes from her satchel and dressed out of her drop-dead-gorgeous outfit into a pair of her favorite track suit bottoms, clean white shirt and a jumper over top it all. There was no reason to impress now. 

Her mood for romance was drained dry.

She was more curious as to what was happening outside the doors. The Villa carried sounds with ease. However, there were no murmurs of voices or shouting. Had they sat down to tea? No, she’d hear the china set then.

Ear pressed against the wood, she heard nothing. Emptiness. Not a single thing.

Hermione groaned in frustration.

He charmed the door! A silencing charm locked the bedroom in an airtight bubble in which nothing was to penetrate. 

Who did he think he was? A silencing charm? He couldn’t even trust her not to repeat what she heard. Like she was some kind of low life gossip. 

Of all the self-important, distrusting Slytherins…

Gryffindor temper flared, she raised her wand and worked at the door. It was heavily charmed. That was because he was highly skilled with his wand. He knew spells that were far beyond what was learned in Hogwarts. It came with practice. And field experience. 

As she worked, she realized that the complex spell would take far too long to break. Time was ticking by fast. However, if she found something physical, Muggle, to break the seal, she’d be able to channel a hole in the charm that allowed her to listen in. 

Hermione marched to the attached bathroom. She scoured drawers and cabinets and the linen closet for some kind of device that might serve the purpose for listening. It eased her anger to slam the doors closed, too. 

She’d decided upon using a toothbrush, hoped it would do just the trick for what she wanted, when she heard something over her head. A mumbling. Excitedly. 

A vent. It was just above the toilet. 

He must not have thought to charm the vents. Magical homes had no use for such things, but Muggle buildings did. A central air circulation system was the perfect device in which she could listen through.

She threw up her wand and said, “Amplifio.”

Two voices rang through the bathroom. They weren’t entire clear. More wobbled, under water like sounds. Still, their words were easy enough to decipher.

“I’ll not be arranged into a marriage like a thirteenth century princess,” Draco stated. “The choice is mine. I’ll not go back to the practices that landed us in this life and Father in Azkaban.”

“You have gone far too native for my liking,” the female voice said. Narcissa. “All that Ministry nonsense has gone to your head.”

She sounded tired. Like his recovery bored her. 

Hermione felt her face turn a shade of deep raging red. That woman was no mother. She didn’t care for Draco like she pretended to. If she did, she’d be proud of all the courage it took in her son to return to the wizarding world after his entire bloody history of cowardice was shown for all to see.

“It was mandated therapy. Therapy I had to complete to avoid Azkaban. That, and the testimony of that witch in there. She saved us both a cell in prison.”

High-pitched snort. “So send her a gift basket, not a bloody opportunity to ruin your family name. Have you not even thought about the repercussions of your actions? A Mudblood attached to us like a leech for all the others to scoff at. Your children forever marked with that laughable question. ‘Are they truly a Malfoy or just some whored half-beast offspring?’ Imagine the shame you’ll put your wife through just for your bit of fun.”

“What wife, Mother? What witch would knowingly join the likes of us?” He sounded so harsh. Like the Draco of her younger years. “We’re pariahs. Dark Lord cohorts. They’d sooner burn us than accept us again.”

“We’ll just go to France,” Narcissa snipped. “Malfoy’s are welcomed like royalty there.”

“They know. France knows our treachery. As does the entire world. I can’t go anywhere on the miserable planet where they won’t know what I’ve done. The burden of a cursed last name. I’m stuck in this life because of it. This bloody ridiculous life you insist on pretending is acceptable. The wrongs of the father weigh on the son. The world will know our change was for the good, not just a way to keep our vaults out of other hands. That’s what it was truly about wasn’t it? The reason you decided we would help Potter. It wasn’t for light. Or good. It was the damn money.”

That voice was unlike the rage she’d heard from him before. Ever. Almost, inhuman.

It took all her might not to go to his side, calm the dark anger that surely consumed his magic.

“Forced to fund Voldemort’s new exploits, we’d have been no less exclusive,” he spat. “Just not as rich.”

“If you want to take it out on me, fine. But don’t soil yourself with filth. Don’t ruin your ancient lineage because of my choices.”

The slamming of things startled Hermione. Her foot slipped down from the toilet seat. She scrambled back to the vent to listen again.

“Where are you going?” Narcissa begged, frantically. “What are you doing, Draco?”

“Every night during that year, I laid at home thinking you’d be dead when I awoke. My eyes would burn until I wanted to rip them from my skull. Every moment was agony in that place.” The raw strength of his voice stung Hermione right in her heart. Small drops of sadness fell from her eyes as she listened to Draco lose every bit of his self-control. “I’ve been soiled since I took that oath. Allowed darkness to tattoo my body in enslavement. All for you! My mother. My _devoted_ parents. It was your hand that held my wand on Dumbledore that night, not mine. I bear the nightmares; you bear the responsibility. You enjoy the frivolity whilst I enjoy the rising panic that every moment of my life might be my last. Not one moment’s peace from that bloody war. Not ever. Thanks to my ancient lineage, I’ll be bound to this fate forever. A dark mark on both, even though I did everything right. I protected you. I helped Potter. Where is my peace? Where is my delighted end?”

Narcissa was stunned. Little startled gasps came out of her lips as she struggled to find the words.

Hermione, too, was in a similar state. Her jaw turned elastic, down to her feet. 

The silence became sweltering. Awful, sticky. It clung at her shirts in greediness need. She fanned it away as the control over her own emotions became too weak. Magic swirled and twirled through the air of the bathroom.

Not a moment later, she heard Draco’s low voice address his mother.

“You need to go.”

“But Draco, I - .”

“You’re right,” he snarled. “I should.”

Hermione let out a sigh of relief. It was over. Her body fell lax against the wall.

“Mother,” Draco stated evenly. “The next time you see Hermione, you will give her your respect. She is far too good for your son. I hope you realize that.”

The wards were dropped around the room. His magic surged out to her, slipping under the crack of the door right to her. A door banged against the wall of the bedroom. It vibrated the wall she leaned against.

“Hermione?” 

His voice rang through the small bedroom. It echoed in against the white marble tiles of the bathroom shower on repeat.

“Hermione,” he said again. It was higher pitched followed by some rustling and tossing of things.

Although her magic and his were happily reunited, his mind was gone. He searched for her. Without feeling.

She wiped her palms down her cheeks. “In here.”

His footsteps stopped at the door. “Are you alright?”

Alright? Alright. That word did not even compare to what she felt. 

They had started out as enemies, sworn to hate each other’s blasted existence forever. Children locked in struggle for top marks. Two fronts of magical society pitted to best the other because it was what was needed for others to fall in line. Then came the blurred line. Shades of gray casted overhead in pregnant clouds of pragmatic circumstance. Until, one relented. Transformed. 

The silly attempt to start over after the war was heartbreaking. So many lives lost to such hate. Their memories forever soured by abilities to move on past the hurt toward a new light. Skills imprinted upon young adults by turbulence that the frivolous attempt to return to a color of normal was wasted. They were adults trapped in the bodies of adolescents in need of education.

Hermione needed to return to Hogwarts. It was home that wasn’t destroyed by the war. At least, not entirely. 

She’d had her doubts about the return of the other Slytherins, especially Draco Malfoy with whom she no longer hated but was indifferent to all the same. Sides had been picked. Things had been done. An honest recovery was a rarity, so she kept her mouth closed and eyes open.

A polite friendship with a Slytherin girl, Pansy Parkinson, led to a polite friendship with all the old enemies. Draco included, but not so pointedly. He kept to himself. Still much the same arrogant smirk and wicked brilliant mind contained by a much softer demeanor. War scars scarred him deep. 

Drunken choice turned shag-ship created the odd formation of something new from old wounds.

Neither were keen about the choice. Anyone might have been more welcome to bring such pleasure to their battered bodies. Dark thoughts of the past casted aside as day old laundry as they reviled in the blissful feeling that came from their connection. 

It was not supposed to be more than sex. Lust. Primal need.

Now it was a wound for all to pick at with their questions and accusations. And they were now bound to sew the wound together again with each sharp blow. 

Whether Draco believed so or not, the Drawn experience was real. It was their shield. It protected their love from ever dying out from fear or discomfort. The truth beneath it all would remain there always at the forefront of their minds in spite of everything. 

They were soul mates.

“Hermione?”

She’d forgotten that he stayed perched behind the bathroom door. He never tread where he wasn’t wanted.

“I’m here, Draco.”

“Can I come in?” He questioned.

She nodded. “Yes.”

It creaked slowly open. His fingers pushed it open, yet his feet remained planted to the flooring just beyond the tile. 

The storm in his eye was calmed. Albeit, the stoic mask was not so telling his emotion.

His eyes stared at her, only disrupted by an upward glance at the vent above her head. If it hurt his feelings, it did not register on his face. Just beautiful perfection. That’s what he was. Always.

Hermione knew better. 

“Draco, I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Marry me,” he said suddenly.

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Marry me.” His Adam’s apple bobbed ever so slightly below his taut flesh. “Take this. Here. Take it and say yes. We’ll go wherever you want to go, do whatever you want to do. Be my wife. Let me take care of you.”

The felt box in hand was tempting. She knew it would be expensive and beautiful in every way. Too beautiful to touch. Much too beautiful for her hands. 

But, it was not right.

Not for them.

“Draco, I can’t accept this.”

“I’m yours. I’ll only ever be yours,” he said. “Take my ring and marry me. Please. I’ll never make you unhappy. You’ll never want for anything. I’ll give you the world. Just, please. Please. Marry me.”

The continual bobbing in his throat hurt her to watch. She hated how his nostrils flared. The continual swallowing. 

She tried to not tear up with him. Instead, she placed her arms around his neck and pulled him taut against her chest.

The petite length of her frame did little to cover the expanse of his body like he did for her. She gave up trying to wrap him up. His forehead rested against her shoulder as she pushed her palms down the length of his back, up and down as he stayed close against her chest. 

The tingles of their magic bubbled at the close contact. Some relief came to his shoulders; they dipped slowly.

“Some holiday, huh?” She whispered.

He grunted an agreement. “I had everything before this bloody holiday.”

“I can’t speak for everything else, but you’ll always have me,” she murmured. 

“Will I?”

Their faces were so close. He pulled his face against hers. Their noses touched, mouths breathed the same air, and they shared the same gaze in each other’s eyes. 

Hot shards of pleasure burst into her open belly. The magic tugged at little nodes of ecstasy. She lost track of her thoughts for a moment.

“Of course,” she said. “I’m your witch, remember?”

His lips caressed the outside of her mouth. “Then why won’t you marry me?”

The distraction was becoming harder and harder to resist. His snake-like fingers were at the edge of her shirt, tickling the soft flesh underneath the fabric.

“It is your fear that asks me. Not your love.” She managed to mumble out the words before his lips captured her in a soft peck. “Whenever that time comes when you’re so in love that you can’t stand another second without me, that’s when you can ask me again. And I’ll say yes then. But not like this, Draco. Not this way.”

He buried his face into her shoulder, placed gentle kisses along the way before finally resting his cheek there with a long drawn out sigh. “The rest of these witches don’t hold a fucking candle to you.”

She patted the back of his head. “Tell me something I don’t know.”


	15. The Allure of A Gryffindor

### The Allure of a Gryffindor

“You’re officially inviteddddddd.” A parchment sang. The squeaky scratchy tone of Pansy Parkinson floated in through the eighth-year common room. “The ultimate summer holiday arranged by the most accommodating, generous hostess. Me! Pansy Parkinson! Come as my personal guest on the best magical tour of a lifetime.”

Hermione Granger sat crossed legged in front of a roaring fire. Ginny, Luna and Hannah Abbott were strewn about the rest of the furniture. Luna’s legs dangled off the arms of the overstuffed recliner. Her toes danced happily as she hummed a soft tune to herself. Only one of her tiny toenails were painted.

Ginny and Hannah huddled beneath a quilt. It was made for Ginny as a birthday gift. It was woven with a dark evergreen and golden embellishments. The colors of her favorite Quidditch team, the Holyhead Harpies. 

The girls had spent all morning fiercely focused on their studies. It’d consisted of them traversing the entire castle to practices their skills in the greenhouses, and potions dungeons, and in a charm’s classroom. 

Hermione stared down at the open invitation with a wish for more enthusiasm. She allowed the cheerful, billowing voice to sing to its content before it was safely tucked away into her knapsack for later when she felt the mood to giggle about it. If that feeling ever came…

“A trip with a Pansy,” Ginny groaned. “I can’t believe you agreed to that. Never on my worst day would I agree to something so, so, so mental. You do know she’ll talk the entire time, right?”

She shrugged. The fire cackled in laughter, the only one to be amused by Ginny’s teasing.

“Her voice is too high-pitched for my liking,” Luna piped in. Another verse of her hum song started a moment later.

“She’s not that bad.” Hannah stretched her legs from the couch. 

It’d been easy to add the Hufflepuff into the group. Neville and Hannah were going steady. Steadier than most. They’d agreed to be promised to one another, as in pre-engagement commitment. There was a flower shaped ring on her finger. It bloomed in the midday sun. Beautiful and dainty. 

Neville and Hannah were a good fit together. Hermione was happy for them. After everything they’d suffered through during the war, they deserved whatever happiness came. She wished it for them. So much.

Hermione forced a soft smile. “She really isn’t.”

“You’re a saint, Mione.”

“Just because I’ll elect to be within her presence?”

Ginny snorted. “No. Although I do have my concerns about your sanity…no. I mean, you do remember what she was like before the war.”

A cold sweat dripped down her spine. She made a point to avoid uncomfortable topics like this, ones that even she didn’t understand.

Draco changed everything. But, he didn’t change the past.

Their past. So touchy. 

She picked at the frayed hem of her jeans. “We were all someone different before the war.”

“She was awful to you,” Ginny said. “Horrid, actually. You were devastated when she started bullying you.”

Hannah nodded. “You can’t just forget what she did to you.”

“I’m not!” Hermione exclaimed suddenly.

All eyes, blown wide, turned to her. Her mouth was more shocked by the volume than her friends were. 

A blush immediately consumed her face. She turned away.

“I’m not forgetting,” she repeated, softer now. “I’m forgiving. It’s much harder than it seems, but I am.”

She buried her face into her sleeve. 

Over. Over. She just wanted it to be over. All that she needed right now was time underneath her comforters with a bit of chocolate and a weeks’ worth of sleep.

Squeaks of the leather couched sounded through the quiet. A hand suddenly touched her shoulder.

“Something’s been wrong all day. I can tell it, Hermione. We all can.” Ginny wrapped one arm around in a gentle side hug and squeezed her close. “Out with it, now. Tell us what’s bothering you.”

Luna straightened in her seat. “Perhaps it is Draco Malfoy whose filled her head with wackspurts.”

Ginny’s lips pushed in a taut line. She shook her head.

“Don’t be daft, Luna,” she chastised. “Draco’d kill himself before he ever upset her.”

She turned back to Hermione, leaned in close with a whispering voice and asked, “It isn’t Draco, is it?”

Billows of gray smoke poured in through the chimney. A bad habit not fixed yet by the castle’s caretaker, Filch. It burned all their eyes, but none so much as Hermione’s since her eyes were already burned with glassy tears. They dripped down the edge of her jaw to the lacy collar of her shirt. Cream colored fabric turned dark in teary stains as the rain continued from her eyes.

Concerned further, Ginny gripped her friend’s shoulder tightly. No matter how much Hermione wanted to yank the arms off of her and proclaim her total indifference, the height of emotions clearly declared the truth louder than she could. 

“For Godric’s sake, no. Draco’s not done anything.” She gasped through shudders. Her sleeves dragged moisture down her cheeks, turned all her face a speckled pink canvas. How enticing she’d be when Draco returned from his fly around the Quidditch pitch: ragged clothes and tear stained face. It’d be a miracle if he managed a kiss!

Silence of the tower was interrupted by the giggling gaggle of voices up through the corridor. A group of seventh year students led by Fay Dunbar. She’d taken up a new group of friends to roam with since most of their year didn’t return after the war. It consisted of many girls from the year below. There was a girl from the Mediterranean named Stormi. She spoke with a thick accent, from Morroco. Her voice was most noticeable since it did not quiet when they all laid eyes on Hermione Granger. 

“It is not right, no? They are bad men. Why she with bad man?” Stormi questioned.

Fay Dunbar’s mouth fell open. She hadn’t expected to see Hermione in the common room.

“Oh! Your-you’re here.”

Hannah narrowed her eyes. “It is the common room. We are all here.”

Fay floundered. Her eyes grew wide, mouth fell farther down closer to the dust bunnies on the floor, and her gaze darted around to all other faces in the room.

“N-n-no. I just meant that - .”

“What’s your problem, Dunbar?” Ginny snorted. “Why is your face twisted like that?”

There was a knowing gasp in the group. It was the girl Stormi who stepped forward with a pointed finger and extended handful of green papers. 

Slytherin green paper, silver letters with a five-letter word written in bloody red scribe.

WHORE.

“You are this girl!” Stormi accused.

Blasted across the flyer was a picture of Hermione with Draco Malfoy stealing a kiss in a Hogsmeade alleyway on Christmas day. The letters were unflattering in every light. _Death Eater Whore._

She’d found one taped to her door early that morning. And seen it in the halls. One was tucked under the arm of a young Gryffindor first period, too.

The tatters of green paper were in soaked mushed bits on her shower tile. It’d taken longer than normal, but she stepped out of the shower that morning with the resolve to not care about it. It didn’t hurt. Someone who was in pain, hurting, confused, and just angry made that flyer. It was about them feeling better, not hurting her. It was about someone else.

Hermione fought back those fat juicy tears. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Holy bleeding Harpies!” Ginny exclaimed. She stormed over and ripped the flyers out of the girl’s hands. The thick furrow of her brow grew thicker. “Where the hell did you get these? Eh? Of all the ignorant, ungrateful…you think these are funny, Fay? Hermione’s a damn hero!”

Fay stumbled around with her words, near tears, and shaking her head furiously. 

“No. No. I’d never – we’d never. They were just given to us.”

“Where?” Ginny barked.

t was a swirl. One moment she was there, the other moment she wasn’t. Ginny disappeared. 

Hannah and Luna grabbed hold of Hermione, pushing her into the deep bowels of the school past the dormitories, in a flood of many others seemingly converging on the same place as she was being pulled to. There was no stable ground beneath. Her shoes slipped and stumbled. She was led by her outstretched arms, upheld at her elbows, dragged along in a helpless flow of people. So many people.

They all stared. Openly. 

The flyers. They had seen them. Her not-so-secret-secret.

The Great Hall. Everyone was there. The room was so thick. It hummed with voices, sounds, shrieks. 

Then came the shouts.

“Get off of me!” A voice boomed.

It echoed off the walls. 

There were so many people it was hard to breathe. A sea of faces in every direction. 

“What’s going on?” Hermione murmured.

“A brawl, of course.” Luna padded Hermione’s air. “Do not worry. Ginny is very good.”

“What?” She breathed.

A brawl? 

“Give me those papers, git, before I shove my beautiful bats up those giant nostrils and watch them claw their way out!” A very vivid description of Ginny’s favorite schoolyard hex. The Bat-Bogey Hex.

Hannah and Luna moved through the crowd. Her right arm was farther stretched ahead than her left, which swung casually, lower to her side.

There was a clearing in the Great Hall in a large circle, split up a lunch table. On one side was a group easily made up of ten students. Their varying sizes led to the assumption they were all different years, and the hues of their ties said their differing houses. All four shades blended into one giant mass at the end of one wand.

Ginny.

“The flyers,” she barked. “Give them to me.”

Wands were drawn. Though their inexperience, ten students of any age could take down one witch. Ginny wasn’t super-human. Her reflexes were only as fast as humanly possible, which is why threatening an entire year of peers was not wise.

A lump lurched in the back of her throat.

“Just stop, Gin. It isn’t worth it.”

Hermione’s voice was lost to the growing hum of excitement. 

“What’s going on?” A shrill voice cut through it all. 

A line of students were forced backward as a figure walked between. Midnight black curls bounced proudly through, a raised sneer toward those in her way.

Pansy joined her other classmates with distinct interest toward the growing circle mob of Hogwarts. “What’s got them all in a tizz?”

“Someone made flyers about Hermione and Malfoy,” Hannah said, distressed. 

Then came the Slytherin sneer. “How dare those little rats!”

She then turned, raised her wand and marched into the circle with it as her accusation pointed directly toward the guilty. “Don’t let me ruin your fun, maggots. If you really do feel like dueling, make it fair, shall we? I love a good joust before supper.”

Word, and memory, of Pansy’s history with dueling in the halls.

Voices of support still rang out.

“Go on, shoot her, Taub!” 

“Another Death Eater whore.”

It was not enough to hurt Pansy’s feelings, but there was a drop in her playful tone.

There was such shame in seeing them fight, and quite literally get their butts hexed to high heaven, all over some silly papers.

Godric, Hermione refused to watch that.

Stability slowly came back to her body. Life lifted her arms out of their clasps. They curled across her chest in a taut clutch as she swallowed back her fear, mortification, and absolute shock, and marched through the center of the brawl. Drawn, twitching wands on both sides of her head.

Tension in the air had magic practically sparking her sweater alight.

“This is mental,” Hermione said. “It is just a stupid paper written by some stupid kids.”

“At least we aren’t evil-sucking scum!” One of the girls shouted. “Death Eater whore!”

Ginny lifted her wand higher. “Hey! Can’t hear that all the way over here. Why do you speak into my microphone? It gives some great feedback.”

“I’ve got an even better one over here,” Pansy sneered. “I personally think you should give it a test first.”

Two yellow tied boys with similar faces stepped forward. They were only fifth years. Babies. It was all so new to them, the mellowing of that clear line they saw all their lines. Dark and light, together. Healing rather than fighting. The magical world had long been kept divided between the haves and the have nots. Joining the two sides seemed a betrayal rather than the next step.

She couldn’t blame them. Just half a year ago, she’d been right there with them. Draco Malfoy was awful to her. He did things to her that made her filled with insecurity and doubt, unsure whether to stand her ground or accept that a fight did more damage than it did good. She hated him then. Pansy, too.

Now Ginny Weasley, one of the most prideful Gryffindors out there, stood alongside Pansy Parkinson in a duel.

“We aren’t giving you the flyers.” One of the twins spoke with a tone that would have matched a young Malfoy with pride. 

“Piss off,” the other one said.

“Fine then, we’ll just hex you into oblivion.” Ginny sank lower into her pose. One arm outstretched, body turned on side to appear as the smallest target possible, slight bend in the knee ready to catch anything that came near. “Then we’ll take the blasted flyers.”

Hermione frowned deeper. “Please, Gin. Don’t do this. It’s not worth it.”

“Listen to the whore,” a voice of the students said. “We’ve got seven more wands on the pair of you. It’ll be too easy to get you down before you take another step.”

Pansy snorted and stepped forward. “Another step like that?”

“Hermione’s a war hero!” Ginny snarled.

“Turned traitor. In bed with the enemy. Wonder if she was feeding information to those scoundrels during the war.” It was a twin. The one with an entirely too confident grin on his face. “Bet she helped kill Dumbledore. It seemed too easy for Malfoy to take him. He’s not that bright. He would’ve needed help to disarm the headmaster.”

Two more wands joined the fight; Hannah and Luna flanked each of the girls. A hard set of determination set across the Hufflepuffs face. One of the most admirable and tricky traits of Hufflepuff was loyalty. Loyalty to the death. She’d fight for Harry and Ron and Hermione without question same as Neville and Luna. 

Of course, Luna was focused, but not so perturbed by the confrontation. It was a good bit of fun to her to duel before supper in a bit of exercise to flex some muscles long abandoned by the war. 

Hermione begged them not to. She wished no one would feed into the atmosphere that spiraled into a mob mentality. If they started a duel, more than those involved would be cursed. An entire circle of students as a barricade was not a wise decision.

Over a flyer!

Voices overlapped one another as Hermione begged for everyone to disband while Ginny and Pansy were baited by the younger students with ease. All it took was a few comments regarding Hermione’s character and promiscuity to rile their feathers. It burned her with embarrassment. The question of her virginity, her place during the war, all the ways she’d betrayed the world turned all her peers into accusers. Their eyes followed each quaking motion. The burn of attention ate away at her. It itched. She grabbed at her flesh as she imagined what they all thought of her now that she’d been outed. 

Tempers were near boiling when a line split through the crowd in a smooth wave.

Draco Malfoy, dressed in his Quidditch gear and broom in his hand, entered the clearing. The broom instantly dropped. It was swiftly replaced by a wand.

“Put your wands down.” He growled. 

He didn’t address anyone in particular; all his attention was focused on the very center of the circle: Hermione in front of drawn wands.

“Sod off, Malfoy.”

“We’ll curse you, too, for coming back here like you’d done nothing wrong.”

“He should be taken to Dumbledore’s grave and executed.”

Draco kept his wand raised. “Drop them.”

It was his only warning. Hermione could feel his magic mounting in an unstoppable wave. Pretty soon he’d be too far gone in his rage to see the light.

She mumbled the spell she knew so well. It apparated her to his side. It was meant to be comforting to him, but it only aided his need to protect her. He pulled her behind him as a shield with his wand still raised. It stayed on her.

“What’s this then, Pans? One of your bloody invitations manage to kill someone?”

A head of black hair whipped back at him. “Funny. I was going to ask if they’d finally risen up in protest of that Merlin awful cologne you wear.”

Frustrated and angry, Ginny grunted. “These gits made flyers of Hermione and spread them all around school. They called her a whore.”

Hermione knew to hold onto him tightly. It wasn’t tight enough to restrain his casting arm. 

A flurry of emerald green papers swirled in the air, fluttering and flapping, before descending in a single column right down to Draco’s open palm. A stack of the flyers sat there, proud as day, in his hand. She hated the way her own face beamed up in total love in a special moment only meant to be seen by Draco. A private, tender kiss.

She blushed, trying to pull the papers away from his eyes. 

The flesh of knuckles turned white as the flyers crinkled in hand. 

It was impossible to see his face, but she felt the anger that consumed him. His wand raised again.

“Who made these?”

His voice was dark and hollow. It shocked her insides.

“We don’t answer to pigs like you.”

Somehow, Draco escaped her grasp. He was unafraid as he approached the younger students. They didn’t step back since the table separated them, but uncertainty crossed through a few of their eyes. Even one of the twins shifted uncomfortably. 

That attracted Draco’s raging attention. “You make these?” His finger flicked up one of the flyers.

The boy shook his head. 

Draco clicked his tongue for what felt like forever before he finally spoke. “Oh, I think you made these. See? Which is awful funny because I recognize you. Your uncle owns that shop in Hogsmeade. My father was one who helped keep him in business when it looked like he was going to close down. He never resisted the money. Asked more than once help keeping afloat. Curious about this stance in the war. On a Death Eaters payroll and all. I’ll imagine he kept that information quiet.”

Their sandy blonde eyebrows dripped low on their faces. The brothers glanced to the other.

“Better yet, imagine what the Ministry will do with the information,” Draco mentioned with a casual smile. “It’ll be hard to keep those doors open once word gets out that he’s a traitor. Azkaban might even have a place for him.”

This had the opposite affect that Hermione expected from the pair. Instead of pleading for Draco’s stay of mouth, they bared their wands up high.

“They don’t even lock up Death Eaters like you.”

“Careful.” Draco growled. His teeth were firmly gritted together. “I just might remember a few of those Death Eater spells. Make quick meat of you lot.”

She sighed. That, of course, was met with the alignment of their bodies. Both twins took their dueling positions, wand the forefront of their force. 

Her beloved was unfazed. His body remained straight in the face of ten trained wands as they all zeroed in their attention to him. Magic from the threat swept her up in a whirlwind of emotion. Same as she felt when those werewolves threatened to shred him to pieces. Thought of her safety went out the window in favor of the swarm of concern for Draco in the face of a guaranteed curse or two. Nothing permanent, obviously, but they’d make it very painful. 

She wouldn’t be able to stand his screams.

Hermione felt her body stomp her way over toward him. It stepped further and further into a suit of armor, away from her hurt feelings, into a more rigid, protected shield of protective lioness energy. She was surprised that claws didn’t sprout out her hands. 

“This is out of hand. Everyone, lower your wands. A duel in the Great Hall is absolutely ridiculous. Someone might really get hurt.”

“That’s the point,” a Slytherin girl answered. She stood beside a Hufflepuff twin, their clear leader.

“Trust our safety with the word of a death eater and a whore? I think n- .”

The end of Draco’s wand shot out a curse faster than the boy had to react.

He fell to the ground as a stiff board.

“Next one to address Hermione that way gets a stinger to the face,” he snarled as he fixed his wand to each one of the group, locking gazes with them before turning to the next. “It’ll be sure to leave some bubbling scars down your cheeks, if you care to try it. Promise you won’t win a beauty pageant after that.”

The group was stunned. Their friend laid down at their feet, frozen solid, as questions rattled through their minds. Do they dare? Should they give in? What will everyone think?

Hermione wanted to use that silence to her advantage.

“Come on now. You guys don’t want to do this,” she said in a forced tone of strength, though she felt worried that retaliation toward Draco would be severe. “There is easily a month’s worth of detention for this. Might even be two, because of the flyers. But, we can forget about the whole thing if you just walk away now.”

“Just walk away?” Ginny exhaled.

“Not without apologizing,” Draco snapped back. 

He pressed his wand farther out in his hand, closer to his opponents. Ginny and Pansy followed suit, tensing their bodies in preparation for a fight. The entire Great Hall was ready for it. The bay for blood, for retribution was louder than the cackling applause of their breaths. Hermione watched as the room turned in on itself. Students from all around them grabbed their wands. Few murmured their shield spells under their breath. Probably didn’t want to trigger an all-out ambush.

Just as the tension reached its peak, when the first spell was on the lips of another, a shrill squaking came from out in the corridor. It asked why students were at a standstill, what was going on and finally instructed them to get out of the way.

Headmistress McGonagall excitedly ran through with Professor Flitwick on her heels. There was a state of shock when they saw the scene.

“Of all the abhorrent things…lower your wands. All of you. Now.” McGonagall was not impressed in the least. Her lips pushed a drooping frown down past her chin.

The room fell silent as no one moved a muscle.

McGonagall repeated herself once more. “Lower your wands this instant.”

“Tell them to go first,” a Gryffindor boy shouted. “Don’t trust him not to curse us unarmed.”

It took all her might not to hex that boy. Hermione pinched her jeans between her fingers as hard as she could to keep herself restrained. 

The headmistress, too, was upset by the statement. “No student of this castle has ever been so ill mannered. Now I won’t say it again. Lower your wands or I’ll be forced to use expulsion as the next means of punishment.”

Few minutes of quiet passed. Hermione’s glare burned at her friends who remained totally fixed in their positions, wands still drawn. She was ready to expel them with her own wand, when out of nowhere, Draco lowered his. It slipped back into his pocket, out of sight.

Pansy did the same. Then Hannah. It took a moment for Luna to realize, but she complied with the instruction with a dazed smile. She’d surely been lost in a daydream herself in the middle of it all. 

The last one standing was Ginny. She was there. Her wand eagerly sat in taut grip with aim still at the group of students. 

“Ginny!” Hermione hissed. “Put it away before you get expelled. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“They need to apologize!” The witch snarled. 

“So they shall, Miss Weasley. Once this mess is sorted. Now lower your wand.” McGonagall declared.

After she relented her standoff, everyone was dismissed except for those involved. The student body was disappointed, sighing heavily and groaning as they marched out to their dormitories. As they shuffled out, Draco drifted Hermione’s side. One arm held her close against him. She tried to feel calm in his presence, but it was difficult to focus beyond the powerful attention of anger. He was tense.

Hermione hugged him. It earned her a smirk from a red-headed witch whilst in the middle of a lengthy lecture from a professor about setting an example for others which she rightfully deserved.

Pulling a wand on a group of younger students was something worthy of Malfoy, not Ginny. Nothing could be learned from threatening!

McGonagall stepped between the two groups. “Now, what has caused this confrontation?”

When everyone turned to Ginny for an expected outburst of Gryffindor rage, it was Draco Malfoy who stepped forward with the handful of flyers. He only flashed them to the professor. Hermione suspected that he did not care to show their intimate moment to more eyes if it was not necessary. It was not inappropriate in nature, just personal. 

“They were the makers of these,” Draco stated evenly. “Degrading the reputation of a witch with more experience and war hero. It is not our fault they don’t know how to pick their battles.”

He was given a stern look of warning from the headmistress.

“Thank you, Mister Malfoy. May I see them?” Her hand awaited the flyers.

“No.”

“No?” Headmistress McGonagall repeated with surprise. “Mister Malfoy, I am the headmistress of this school. Not some gossiping goose. Now, please, hand me those papers.”

Quiet and calm, Draco continued to deny her.

“I apologize, professor, but these,” the papers shook in his hands, “are private. It is not meant to be seen. Not by the Headmistress, not by the entire school. I’ll not be responsible for the smearing of her image over something as unrefined as a flyer.” Draco clicked his tongue. Gray eyes turned toward the younger students. “At least have the sense to go to a reputable paper rather than a homemade rag sheet.”

Hermione pinched his side lightly and whispered, “A bit dramatic, don’t you think? Don’t overplay your hand.”

He snickered. His eyes glanced down at her, amused. They danced in their sockets. Finally. He’d found his humor again.

“I know the exact extent of my hand, love.”

“You know it wasn’t that big of a deal,” she whispered.

McGonagall continued on her inquisition, asked Ginny and Pansy, confronted the young students with a disapproving glare. Threats of expulsion were not so far down below. She paraded the word easily as she took her time to lecture each student separately on their own shortcomings.

Pansy shouldn’t be so easily baited to join in. Ginny should know that confrontation never resolved anything; it should have been brought to McGonagall first. Hannah and Luna received defeated sighs. Their lecture was less so since neither looked seriously ready to cast in the first place.

“It absolutely is a big deal.” His voice was a bit sharper under his breath. “No one should feel confident enough to attack you. They might not be afraid of me, but at least have the decency to be afraid of Potter.”

“And Ginny.”

“A wise man would know not to cross a witch like her,” he said.

Ginny stood beside Luna, flared red, nostrils wide as she listened to McGonagall’s punishment listed. She was more than happy to receive her assignment. Hall monitor for Hogwarts at night was hardly a deterrent. 

The younger students were given the worst end. As they should.

Hermione pressed her cheek against his bicep. “I do believe you just complimented her.”

“Don’t be daft.”

“You like her, don’t you?”

“We tolerate one another. At most, respect. But like?” His lips were in a thin line. “It is a wise choice to recognize a witch so willing to jinx and thus avoid the business end of her wand. She’d jinx me in a snap if she thought I wasn’t doing my job. So I must charm.”

Draco Malfoy was not known to respect someone just because of their willingness to fight. Harry jinxed him often. So did Ronald. He still encouraged them into duels in every possible place around the castle like he couldn’t wait to possibly be cursed. 

No, that went against who he was.

“Whatever you say, love.”

“And, you, Mister Malfoy.” The firm voice directed their attention back to the crowd where their headmistress stood, arms crossed, robes billowed out around her, spectacles at the tip of her nose. “Three feet on the proper social graces when addressing a headmistress and staff with historical reference and importance.”

Draco stayed fixed still, but magic fell down around their feet rather than the tense ‘on-guard’ kind moments before when he’d been ready to fight an entire Great Hall full of students. “Yes, professor.”

“On my desk by Friday,” McGonagall added. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, professor.”

“I trust you to dispose of those flyers properly.”

The swell in his chest suddenly emerged as he nodded. “You have my word.”

“Excellent.” There was a slightest bit of pleasure in her eyes. “Now, to your dorms, all of you. Your suppers will be brought up. I’ll send your head of houses to ensure you’re in proper place so be sure to stay there.”

The eighth-year students walked together up to the suites while Ginny headed to Gryffindor and the others went to their prospective houses. Hermione wondered if something might happen in the tower since Ginny was with a few of the students who made the flyers, but she seemed too satisfied with their punishment to consider breaking any more rules. She’d done her job. They were punished and shamed for their parts in trying to hurt her friend. Hermione was lucky for that girl. Despite the headache and Ginny’s love of mortification, the witch was the best friend she’d ever get.

Not that friendship didn’t come with a large lecture on why her standoff with those students was totally immature and unnecessary. That was already half composed by the time she got to her suite.

“Bloody bastards lucky McGonagall made it there when she did,” Draco grumbled as he wretched off his flying gear. It levitated itself off the floor and into a near folded pile atop the desk. 

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed. She twiddled her thumbs together as she watched him undress, unsure whether she should be insulted by the fact he wanted the kids punished for being misguided like he was as a child or hurt that he felt so embarrassed by the display of their relationship throughout the school.

Eventually he noticed her silence. His actions paused.

“Hermione. Are you alright?” He asked.

She forced a smile. “Of course.”

“I’ll make sure they regret those flyers. I promise,” he said. Both hands rested against her knees as he lowered himself to the floor in front of her. His forehead aligned with hers. “I swear to it. None of them will have a future when they get out of this place. Not one.” 

There was such desperation in his tone. It pulled her close, those needy damned fingers of his magic with their enticing grasp like an inescapable drug.

Her fingers brushed aside the fallen edges of his blonde locks. The fresh wind of his broom ride left him alluringly clean. It smelled his breath with that air. He breathed it on her like a blessing of holy water. It was so sexy. 

A bolt of lightning shot through her like a shatter of the heavens. Her magic sparked at the yearning, burning, never frayed, oh-god-please-give-me-more nerves that kept her on the edge of her seat for a heated look from gray eyes. 

It was the upshot of her monthly cycle. Energy for the nonstop shagging was close to peak. She barely enjoyed the world as it circled around on its usual rotation as she laid against Draco’s scarred chest in utter bliss, waves of pleasure a dull sensation in their aftermath.

“Draco,” she breathed.

His eyes scanned her face. They dipped down to her throat as she swallowed back the urge to beg for him to strip to nothing but his knickers. Pale eyebrows scrunched together.

He wrapped his arms around her neck and pulled her against his chest. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I should have known something like this would happen. I could have…done something. Threatened them, or just announced the dire consequences that come from hurting you.”

A flood of tears near came at his mistake of her emotion as pain rather than allure. He cradled her gently in his arms with the sound of his heart to calm her because he knew just how secure it made her feel. 

“Oh Godric.” She sniffed. 

Yup. She was crying now. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. 

His grip tensed. “There won’t be a next time. I promise. I’ll send warnings out to the entire blasted country if that’s what it takes. A notice in the paper. My father still has some pull down at _The Prophet._ A well-timed threat of legal action for one printed word of defamation of you will curb any journalist. Potter will help, too, I bet. Protect your name. He’s not above abusing the press to make a point, is he? Something that Ginny would approve of, for certain.”

“Careful.” She clicked her tongue after wiping away her salty streams. “Might just sound like you’ve come around to Gryffindors.”

He lips curled into a sharp smirk. “Of course, I have. I’m in love with one, aren’t I?”


	16. Future Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your support these days. I have gotten absorbed into other works so this got put on the back burner momentarily. I've really loved all the comments you've given. Really, they encourage me to write. THANK YOU. They are my lifeblood.
> 
> Anywho, I've got a question that requires input: Would you prefer this to be a short story with a conclusion or rather, a longer series that extends over just what my original plot structure has been made for? My short story will end soon. This being one of the last chapters in the story. I never expected so many to love this so I leave it up to the readers and what they'd like. Please let me know.

### Future Plans

It was official.

Term was soon to end. The final term at the blasted castle. Summer was near. And the approaching start date of Pansy’s cross continent holiday descended upon them all like a freight train.

Draco flicked down the annoying singing card. Of all things she had to do for the holiday trip, singing like a beached whale was the absolute worst things to do.

“I thought I told you not to sing. Ever.” He groaned.

There weren’t many, but his friends were stretched out in the quad for their study session in the first bits of warm summer light they’d long awaited for in their unusually cold spring. Theo Nott crossed his legs in the grass, books stacked on each side of him and jotted down notes quietly. Ernie MacMillon spoke to his enchanted quill. It worked hard to create notecards, color coded and arranged in coordinated piles. For once, he was out of school uniform. Just casual sweats and a team shirt for the Holyhead Harpies.

The drama queen, otherwise known at Pansy Parkinson, laid out on a shimmering lilac and mint green towel. Her pale legs stretched in brilliant white light. Big black sunglasses twice the size of her actual eyes perched on the bridge of her nose. 

They raised up from the ground as she wrinkled her nose in displeasure. “Ha. Ha.”

She absently checked the position of her hair before she lowered back down to her sunbathing bed. Hermione helped created a braided crown atop the witch’s head which surely only added to Pansy’s delusion of being actual royalty. 

The invitation was shoved back into its envelope, never to harm his ears again.

“Does Blaise even know we’re coming to visit?” He snipped as he shooed a few flies away from the alluring scent of his lunch. Blasted beasts. Lucky that pest control charms were considered dangerous on school grounds or they’d all be in trouble. “Or shall we just appear at his door as a surprise?”

“He didn’t come back. I thought he would,” Nott said, though the question was not addressed to him. The wizard kept his gaze on his work. Curious man. “Italy of all places. A whole other country. Not a place where I can visit on weekends. Think he did it on purpose?”

Pansy snorted. “Yes.”

She then raised to her elbows, addressing Draco now. “Friends are always welcome. Isn’t that always what he said?”

“So, you mean to tell me, you planned this entire bloody holiday, and didn’t think it make sure he’d even be in the country?” He rolled his eyes. “World’s best hostess,” he mumbled.

Pansy screeched an ungodly sound. Theo physically threw himself to the grass and covered his head as if a spell might explode over his head any minute. 

The sounds of Pansy were not lost on Draco. He’d known her since they were both babes at uptight functions their parents dragged them to. The failure of the Parkinson’s nanny was to allow such noises to yield results. Malfoy children were forced to adhere to social standards, meaning that they were expected to have the utmost grace when addressing others. 

Draco wanted his children to be that way. Not little Parkinson brats. Nor selfish, sassy prats like Blaise.

“I’ll have you know that I followed every step of advice in the book.” Her arm whipped out the length of wood and shot out a stream of water.

He deflected the assault with ease. 

“What book?” He asked.

“The one Ernie got. Tell him, Ern! I went above and beyond what that bloody book said. I should write my own by now.”

Ernie jumped out of his daze. “Huh?”

A large pair of pleading brown eyes gazed up behind lowered sunglasses. “Tell Draco how hard I worked on the invitations.”

Draco glanced over at his childhood friend with a minor level of shock. All throughout their life, Pansy flaunted her ability to avoid things expected of her, slither her way around obligations, and totally live carefree of responsibility since she’d placed it on someone else’s shoulders. The girl was unashamed back then. Unashamed of how easy her life was. It took every ounce in his body to withstand that urge to drop his jaw at the change of personality. 

Change. It was the mark of maturity. 

The Ministry appointed therapist said that constantly. Change was maturity. It meant growth in a direction we were previously too immature to understand. Change was necessary. Every generation changed from their parents and it led society forward.

Those words kept him going each day when he awoke and remembered the fact that he finally had something good thanks to those words, rather than the crushing despair that came once the Dark Lord returned and his life promptly sucked.

Theo rose up out of the grass, dusting the filth off, with scowl.

“The last time you worked hard was to get into Malfoy’s pants,” he grumbled. Theo was frustrated at how filled with grass and stains his books were. He shook them out in the hopes they’d be cleaned. “What was it, third year? Been a minute since you put much effort into anything.”

Pansy made a strangled sound out of her throat, somewhere between a gasp and a shriek. It captured everyone’s due attention.

Her finger pointed at Theo. “You awful, wretched TOSSER.”

“What’s he talking about?” Draco questioned. 

Whatever it was, he didn’t like the sound of it.

“Isn’t fun to have your secrets spilled, is it?” Theo snickered.

She started to flounder like a drowned fish. “Wha – I – I never!” Pansy grabbed at her hair like it’d been wretched from her head. She brushed it down, breathing deeply. “Did I ever say you had a crush on Ron Weasley?”

“What!” Draco’s brows flew to his hairline. “The Weasel?”

“Bitch,” Theo gasped. “Better than letting Goyle finger you in the common room to get back at Draco for talking to that Beauxbaton girl.”

She shrieked louder this time. For once, a decided red flare crossed her cheeks.

“ _You swore!_ ” She exclaimed.

“So did you!” His finger pointed at her.

Pansy turned to Draco with a startled expression. “Draco, I – I’m sorry. It was stupid.”

He chuckled. Stupid? Yes. Goyle never washed his hands. The mate was a filthy thing. A brute. If she hoped to make him jealous over her liaisons, she’d have to make better choices than that back then. Now, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t even offended. It was so long ago, another Draco she cared for. An angry, spoiled Draco Malfoy. 

Draco turned back to his book. “I hardly care, Pansy. That was years ago.”

“Oh.” She settled back down to her towel, quieter. It was a blissful moment of silence from the witch who’d already given him a headache.

Bleeding hearts, he missed Hermione.

Last week, they had spent their nights sneaking off to the Villa entangled in each other every second they could. He’d made a point to lay her on his mother’s favorite desk and make love to her in every position he thought of. 

Draco never lacked experience. Girls were drawn to him since the age of eleven. They threw themselves at his feet to step on and use to his content, which he had done as a randy teen in need to prove himself, not that there was ever a wizard near as popular and as attractive as he. No, wizards in the school lacked game. Blaise had only ever slept with one girl, on holiday. He never landed with a witch from Hogwarts. The rest were hopeless virgins. 

He guessed Diggory hadn’t been a virgin since the Ravenclaw girl cried for him for an entire year. But one girl? That was a low number compared to Draco’s.

It wasn’t until he met Hermione that he was embarrassed by the number. She had one. One bloody wizard in her past who knew her in the way he knew her, and Draco wanted to rip the wizard’s throat out. It drove him mad. She was his. They were meant to be together in any way imaginable. The fact that another wizard planted his flag first only made his hold on her grow tight. 

He only wanted her pleased with him. She was the only witch to truly not be pleased on first sight.

How could she not hate him for being so soiled? 

She was too good for him, that’s why. Hermione Granger was unlike any witch who walked the Earth. Talented, brave, impulsive, wicked smart. The best witch out of all the one’s he knew.

What irked him greatly was that he hadn’t recognized her superiority during their younger years. She was an unstoppable force their entire school life. Top of the class was always hers. It came natural to her. Nothing was too difficult for her to master.

Draco stressed over his blindness. Had her status meant more to him than the best? He prided himself on his insight to someone’s usefulness, and a witch like Hermione Granger would have meant many opportunities to use for his advantage. Muggleborn or not, she was the brightest witch of the age. Everyone said so.

He’d been so bloody fixed on Potter that he hadn’t looked beyond proving himself better than the saint.

Had he focused on Hermione rather than Potter, his life might’ve been vastly different. Maybe, he wouldn’t have joined Voldemort. Maybe the guilt in his chest wouldn’t be on his heart like a god damn anchor to the grave. Just maybe, it wouldn’t hurt to cling to her so tight because there wasn’t another soul who loved him.

Not his father. Not his mother. 

Just her.

“Come on guys.” Pansy waved her wand. Her things folded neatly and tucked themselves into a tote bag near her feet. A pair of silver sandals popped out. She slid her feet into them gently. “Time to get back. They’ll be wondering where we are.”

Ernie squinted as he looked up. “Who will?”

“Everyone.” Pansy put her hands on her hips. “I did tell you that everyone was getting together. Ern. I can’t believe you forgot.”

“Exams are only three days away.”

“You’re going to miss our party to _study_?” Pansy asked.

He held his books tight against his chest. “Party? You said it was just a get together.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s the difference? Now, let’s go.”

They packed up their things as Pansy walked into the castle, a big straw hat atop her head, over-sized sunglasses, tote on her shoulder and squeaking sandals as she marched. 

The eighth-year students planned another party, end of the year thing just like the start of term. It was planned in the common room of the suites instead of Hogsmeade since a few students found their way into trouble. Padma barfed in the alley. Pansy had lost a few items of clothing on the way back to her suite. Terry Boot, being extremely inexperienced with alcohol, ended up kissing quite a few women in town and staying the night in a flower bed, which only angered one husband in the morning to his credit. 

It was settled that they all should stay in to be reckless. Hogwarts knew how to manage scandals in house. 

Draco and Theo shared looks as Ernie walked after Pansy, unaware they’d been made.

“Hey Ernie.” Theo slung his arm over Ernie’s shoulders in a familiar way. “I’ve got a girl to introduce you to.”

The wizard’s eyes bulged. “What?”

“Don’t you mean ‘who’ there, Ern?” Draco smirked. “He’s got a real catch. Aren’t you interested?”

“Interested.” Ernie echoed. A distinct swallow went down his throat. “Well, I’m, I’m grateful to you boys for your concern over my happiness, but I better pass.”

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with Pansy, would it?” Draco asked.

“Pansy, the iron claw of Slytherin.”

He actually shuddered. The wizard actually shuddered.

“Iron claw? You mind clarifying?” Ernie’s monotone was swapped for the hint of emotional response. If anyone would bring it out of him, it’d be Pans.

“You prefer iron trap?” Theo chuckled. “We can change it. For you, Ern. Our mate.”

They gave Ernie a good rubbing about the clear relationship Pansy roped him into. He wasn’t unwilling, just not pursuant of it. She had approached him in the library, grabbed him by the books and dragged him wherever she wanted until it fit her to not do it. 

The boys went to their suites to ready for the party with their roommates.

Draco changed quickly. He was excited to see Hermione. An entire day of studying away from her left his magic swirling with anticipation, excitement and relief. He needed to know she was safe. He wanted to feel every inch of her to make sure it was intact and unblemished. She was only his. His to protect. So much time without her left those kinds of questions swirling around. It came to mind to never leave her side, but she stopped the idea when he mentioned it once. Or twice. 

The third time it was brought up, she maybe threatened to curse him into oblivion if he tried it. He would have laughed at how ridiculous it was to threaten him, but she seemed rather eager to do it with her wand already clutched in hand.

Hermione was as stubborn as she was beautiful. She never gave him his own way without a fight. It drove him mad to verbally duel with someone as much as she made him do it. He put to work parts of his brain that had almost atrophied in years of reliable transmission of his identity and reputation. Thanks to those Gryffindors in that tower, they all encouraged verbal sparring like charms class. A nice reprieve from the other sissies in the castle, much less the ones in London.

Salazar, he couldn’t wait. He needed that witch’s lips.

The way to her room was just one door down, but his body knew it solely by heart that with his eyes closed, he could find his arms around her waist and a kiss on her lips like a way to a dream. However, the attitude was off. Something was different within the atmosphere, perhaps her magic, but it was not hostile. He couldn’t say it was wrong. 

Bottles clinked in the other room. A line under the door was lit bright.

He knocked his knuckles against the door. “You ready?”

“One minute.” She gargled. The toothbrush clinked against the bowl of the sink.

Draco waited five more minutes for her to emerge from the loo. 

The large fluffy of her chocolate brown curls was smoothed down to large tamed curls that rested just below her shoulders, freed of their usual position in taut braids. Soft white of her flesh glowed with radiance. A red blouse with cut-out shoulders and sheer material from the upper ribcage down embraced her body like a glove custom fit for every millimeter of her. The hue of her lips was darker than their light pink. Instead, they were ruby red, plump and full. 

It took shoving his hands deep into his pockets not to rip it all off. The need didn’t diminish. 

He forced his eyes in line with hers. “You look…” he swallowed. The correct end to the statement was ‘fucking gorgeous. Literally’ but the timing was off. Friends, people they respected, awaited their arrival. She hated to be late and unkempt in front of others. It made her too self-conscious.

Draco took a breath. It only made things worse. Her scent was a bloody perfume in the air. He could smell the lovely blooming smell that came from somewhere down below, a heaven he remembered fondly. His place. 

“Good?” Her eyebrows perked.

“Better,” he answered with a smirk.

“Better than good?” One brow toyed with him playfully. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip. “So, great then?”

None of that helped him gain control. In fact, he was close to wildly out of it. 

There was something about her. She radiated some aura that made her impossible to resist more than he’d ever felt before. Not when in the exciting beginning when it amused him to watch her struggle with her desire or when he fell in love with her. It was now. The very moment he was in. 

Draco brushed off some non-existent dirt to have a reason to break eye contact. “Great is better, but not close. I’ve had time to think on it and perfect fits best.”

Laughs used to humiliate him. He hated the way a girl laughed at something he said. There was no greater insult to a young Draco Malfoy than amusement of his statements, especially ones that he meant. 

Her laughs were music. A delighted melody that brought him a smile without thought, a jump in his pulse without panic. 

She grinned deviously. “Apparently I haven’t lost my touch.”

Her hand ran along the waistband of his pants. “Mister Malfoy, you flatter me.”

“Yes, now let’s get going before flattering turns into ravishing.” His lips pressed against the heat of her neck. “Time is precious, love. I estimate that shirt has seconds left.”

Breath caught in her throat. “Where is that self-control you pride yourself on? Not thrown it in the bin, have you?”

“It is possibly somewhere between two minutes and three hours ago.” He dragged his teeth gently down the length of her neck. “Since you’re most delectable when we’re reunited.”

Her hands rubbed against the front of his pants. She knew how crazy it made him. Just like he knew how wild her hormones raced when his suckled the nape of her neck as he did.

He danced his fingers up the length of her torso to the free flesh of her breasts. They heaved into his hands as he cupped them gently. She moaned. Just enough to encourage his teasing massage of her chest as she exhaled whimpry little breaths like a wounded animal. Only she wasn’t wounded. 

The edge of her control was nearly reached. 

Draco reached down a layer of denim into a warm place. Between her legs at the apex of her thighs was a slick opening that he greeted with two fingers and a thumb. She froze as he entered. 

It’d been so long since they’d succumbed to urges in such a raw way. They controlled their needs until behind closed, warded doors. But the way he felt, an entire Quidditch team could fly in on their bloody broomsticks and he’d continue shagging her like a bunny. Of course, if it was Krum’s team, he’d welcome the team in just to see the look on the wizard’s face when he realized that Hermione’s pleasure went worlds beyond what the dumb Krum could give.

She grinded against his palm, eyes rolled back into her head, like she’d never needed anything more. Delight. Pleasure. They swept across her features. He could watch her like that all day, on his fingers, in the palm of his hand, so full and complete. 

Voices of their friends now filled their heads. The common room just outside their door was filled with the sounds of all their classmates now ready for a party, unaware that just in the other room, two of their friends were close to the throes of passion.

Hermione breathed strong breaths of relief. “Oh, Draco. What will I do without you until holiday?”

She dismounted. He hardly realized.

“Without me.” What did that mean? “I was not aware we planned to be parted.”

“Pansy’s trip does not start until three days after term end,” she stated. Her tone was steady but her face quivered. She retracted from his gaze. “We both should return home. Pack. Await our exam results.”

He bit back a snarl, but the temptation to appear dissatisfied was large. “Our exams will show us passed with flying colors as they always do. We don’t need to be home to know that. Owls come to the Villa.”

She pulled away. Her hands adjusted the edge of her waistband, but otherwise she did very little to primp herself. 

“Honestly, Draco. There’s no need to be angry,” she said. “It is just three days.”

“And Christmas was just four bloody weeks.”

She wrapped her arms around herself in a tight hug. “It won’t be like that.”

“No. No, it won’t. Because this time it’ll be bloody worse.” His heart pounded wildly in his chest. He felt like it might explode. “Least then I had Hogwarts to fall back on. You’d never abandon Hogwarts without completion. If you didn’t come to me during holiday, I knew I’d see you again. But now? Now there’s nothing to promise me you’ll return.”

“There’s me.” She touched his cheek gently. He must have closed his eyes in his rage because she was there in front of him. Her fingers spread over the cool flesh. “I promise to come back.”

It was his mother all over again. She promised to protect him. She promised to do what was best for the family. She promised, she swore, she crossed her heart. 

Lies. 

“I’m not just an accessory for you to carry around whenever you want, Hermione. I love you all the time. Need you, all the time.”

“A girl can’t wear her prettiest dress all the time.” She smirked. “Forever can spare three days, can’t it? That’s all I’ll need.”

“What for?” 

She shook her head. “I don’t want you to worry but…I can’t say.”

“Can’t say. To me. Your boyfriend.” Possible thoughts of what she might be doing: cheating, fighting, investigating, martyring. All of those were not things he wanted her to do alone. She might need backup. “That does not ease my apprehension. You’re alone and won’t tell me what you’re up to.”

“Really, Draco. It is nothing you need to worry yourself about.” Her brown eyes gazed into his. “I’m not leaving you. There’s something I need to do. And whatever it is inside me, it thinks I need to do it on my own. It is like the instinct that first brought us together. I have no choice but to follow it. It is scary to you, I know, but I trust in all our magic. I trust in us.” Her fingers pushed between his and tightened. 

The calming of physical touch that came from their connection seeped down past his fingers. It made quick work of him. She knew how to do that. Just as he knew how to read her, Hermione read his emotions like a book, the easiest thing for her to ever do.

He looked down at their combined hands. “That does not mean I like it. We’re supposed to be together.”

“I have to do this,” she whispered. “And there is something you have to do, too.”

His brow wrinkled. “What. What would you have me do?”

“Learn to trust me. You don’t do it easily. I’ve seen the way you jump each time I stand up, like any moment might be the one that I decide I don’t love you anymore.” It pained his heart to hear the words out loud. He wanted to shout their untruth, that it did not matter to him what she did, but it was a lie. But it wasn’t love he thought would be the breaking point; he knew she loved him.

Pain. He feared she would be hurt somewhere, and he wouldn’t get there in time. If she wandered into danger without realizing, he’d never forgive himself for not being there with her. A single drop of blood would haunt him. Any injury would be absolute torture.

“Can you do that?” She asked softly.

He hated her tender moments when he felt his fear so sharply in his head. “I’m not a child. Of course, I can do that.”

“I’ll miss you.” Her fingers ghosted around his chin. “It won’t feel right without you there.”

“Excellent. Then I’ll pack a bag.”

She shook her head. “Not this time, love.”

It turned his mood to foul. They entered the common room, bottles he bought for the occasion in hand, where all their friends congregated with full intention to party. He felt bitter as ash. All he thought of was her, away from him. Hermione had her arm wrapped around his lower back, pressed against his as they walked. She smiled as she greeted Sue Li, Pansy, Seamus and Terry Boot. Like his life wasn’t fucking over at the end of term.

Three days of utter hell. Followed by a lifetime of it if she didn’t return. 

Draco eyed Terry carefully as they passed. He did not like the wizard. His interest in Hermione was more than friendly.

Padma collected the bottles from his hold. She placed them near the random collection of other liquor, half empty or oddly stashed containers. One was the bottle of mouthwash.

In place of the deposited alcohol, he was given two goblets. Both smelled of Odgen’s Firewhiskey. 

“Good stuff first,” Padma stated, then turned with a grimace, “before the Fishy Green Ale.”

“Oh god. Not that stuff again.” Hermione groaned. She pushed the alcohol-filled goblet away.

Padma shared the similar sentiment. “It’s all Theo has. He even keeps it in the loo next to his toothbrush.”

It was the bottle of mouthwash. Draco recoiled. The wizard was a menace to himself. 

“How can you drink that stuff, Theo?” Hermione questioned as they made themselves comfortable on the couch. 

There was limited seating. Draco sat on the one open cushion while Hermione crossed her legs and sat between his legs. His knees hugged her shoulders tightly.

Theo sat across the room near Pansy and Ernie with delighted cheer at the cuddle the witch forced Ernie into, delighted as all get out to see the iron claw of Slytherin latch onto another victim. The glee was palpable. He was giddy as he smiled.

“Bit of a habit, I suppose.” Theo turned his attention back to everyone else. “Got used to the smell. My dad loved the stuff. Plus my mum’s new beau hates it. Two in one, you see.”

Draco sneered. “Your uncle does not care for the smell of his brother? Fancy that.”

He enjoyed the strangled snort out of his love’s mouth. She covered her mouth with shock. Hermione looked at him for confirmation which he enjoyed doing even more.

Salazar, it was heaven to have her squirm in her lap. Friends. Fire. Whiskey. Her. 

Half well into her cup, Pansy snickered with great enjoyment, offered her cup to her newfound interest and straightened in her seat.

Pansy brayed. “Uncle Daddy Nott has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” 

“Can’t wait to see what those family holidays are like.” Draco laughed. It felt good to laugh. 

Of all the things he had in his life, this was one of the happiest memories he had. Returning to Hogwarts seemed a death sentences when term started. He despised his mother for forcing him back. The castle was filled with dark memories. Nightmares. Death. That day, that battle within the school was a black cloud over his mind as he entered Hogwarts once more, a tomb of the horrors that happened thanks to him.

He thought friends were all done for him. Who wanted a death eater as a friend? More so, all the friends he had were rotten excuses for human relationships. The taxing upkeep of their connections burned the idea.

Then came the change. Every eighth-year student greeted him with respect. They all carried their own guilt from war, along with him. All wished to bury the hatchet, carry on with their lives with some sense of normalcy.

So much darkness. Grudges ate them alive. He, too, shared that sentiment. All he wanted was life to not be war.

The biggest change came when a bright-eyed Hermione Granger, half in the bag from one of Pansy’s rum and whiskey mixes, caught eyes with him across a crowded party. Sparks ignited his flesh that moment. He felt seen. Finally. Transparent under her gaze, knowing very well the emotions buried inside his chest were well within her realm of imagination, Draco drew close. Whiskey blurred his brain, too.

To say he expected what came would be an understatement. He’d only hoped to apologize. Alcohol compelled him to do that. It spilled his deepest regrets out in a stream as he recounted each travesty of character he acted upon her person as an adolescent, and yet, when he expected a black hole of contempt to swallow him, it was no better than he deserved, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. A single kiss. 

That was when he lost himself to the suffocating love that was perfection. He’d not change a single thing.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad, is it, Theo?” Hermione tried to see the light of it. She held a trying smile. It made her look even more beautiful than she already was. He held onto her shoulder. Just the touch of her flesh against his was ecstasy. What was with her that made her insanely attractive? “He makes her happy and treats her right, I’m sure. That’s all that matters.”

“Such practices have been common in history,” Terry Boot revealed. “Muggles often do such things to keep a family intact. A duty to care for ones family.”

Terry Boot on Hermione’s side. What a shock.

“It’s none of those things. Can we please just drop it?” Theo scratched the back of his head in distress. It was the reason for the thinning patch of hair back there. 

Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom stepped through the portal, brightened faces in greeting.

“Drop what?” Neville asked in his soft voice.

The gangly wizard did not meet anyone’s eyes. He made himself comfortable near Hermione, greeting her with a smile and a wave, starting to give her a friendly embrace when she loudly gagged in his ear. He turned bright red in apology.

After getting a drink, Susan settled in near Padma.

“Theo has a complicated family living situation,” Ernie answered.

“Before you get excited, Longbottom, it isn’t a hot sister. Just an uncle for a dad,” Pansy said.

Hermione gasped. “Pansy. Theo _does_ have a sister, remember?”

The Slytherin leaned forward, confused by the outburst. It was clear that Pansy hadn’t absorbed any of Hermione’s good nature in the short time of their friendship. Somehow the miracle of the two never fighting lasted all term long. In fact, they spent a good amount of time together.

Draco was about to witness the understanding of just how that was.

“Not a hot one, though,” replied Pansy, befuddled.

Theo sniffed. He captured her attention. Draco felt the anxiety build in Hermione’s magic as she sat in an awkward situation.

“Your sister is a beautiful woman, Theo.” It was all Hermione said, and it made the room fall very still.

They all sat in the tension until fits of laughter choked through it all. Relief even washed Draco a bit.

“Brilliant,” Theo groaned. He lifted his goblet over his face and poured the full glass into his open mouth in blinding need to forget the moment. 

Padma promptly refilled it.

Terry raised his glass in silent cheers as Theo sought to chug the next goblet just as fast. “Same broom with you, Nott. Pansy asked me, in front of Mrs. Billows, how many housewives I shagged on Saturday. It was horrifying.”

It was news to Macmillon. He couldn’t get his eyebrows any higher on his face if he tried. 

He turned to her, horrified. “Really?”

Pansy got in a mad rush to cover her tracks. It amused Draco to watch her flounder worse than before when he’d been told of her liaisons with Goyle. Her eyes were blown wide. She looked to Hermione for help.

“That was only because he asked me where I went that night.” Her voice was frantic. “I couldn’t tell him where we went.”

That wasn’t above anyone’s hearing; everyone gasped. Except Hermione, which Draco noted for later.

“We?” Susan and Theo echoed.

The affair went on longer than anyone thought. They seemed cozier recently, but that was at the start of term. There was lots of unaccounted time to explore.

Although he was totally embarrassed by the spotlight, Ernie knit his fingers in between Pansy’s. She smiled at him with a sparkle in her eye. Once upon a time, Draco was on the receiving end of that sparkle. She, a different witch. He, a different man for sure.

“They’re not the only ones.”

Ginny Weasley suddenly appeared in the room. She wore a smirk. 

“Ginny!” Hermione breathed. “How’d you get in here?”

The red-haired witch gestured for Neville to scoot. He moved in front of Tracey Davis’s legs as Ginny wedged herself near Hermione. 

“Same as Luna,” she replied.

On the other side of the room sat the ditzy blonde, ankles crossed as she levitated an empty goblet above her nose, without a wand.

Susan startled, surprised by the witch. “Luna! How long have you been here?”

“A while,” the witch said. 

There was not much offered back, so there was nothing more said.

“What did she mean we’re not the only ones?” Pansy’s brows pushed together in concern. “Did someone else hook up at that party? I mean, besides Terry and the entire married village of Hogsmeade.”

The Ravenclaw faked a joyful laugh when he was clearly mortified by the fact. He buried his face into his goblet.

The question ran through the group. Only a few who attended the first party weren’t at the second. And over the course of the year, they’d all grown closer rather than the other younger years. The things they’d seen were all the same. It bonded them together. 

Draco spent his days with Hufflepuffs and his nights with a fiery Gryffindor. Pansy, the reincarnation of Salazar Slytherin himself, adopted the shy Ernie Macmillon and turned him into a party-going young man rather than book with a body grown out of it. 

Seamus shrugged. “Dunno. I only snogged that girl Fay went with.”

“Stormi,” Tracey answered.

“You snogged her?” Ginny’s jaw dropped. “Seamus, you’re unbelievable.”

He shrugged. “What?”

It descended into a very long discussion about the ethics of snogging foreign students. They all bolstered their opinion on the matter as if it were of great importance, broke into smaller groups of branched discussion and moved about the room to continue it.

Something erupted by the Ginny, Hermione, Pansy and Neville group. It had an excited Pansy pointing her finger at Hermione, “I knew it!” She proclaimed. Neville blushed and looked away. Hermione sat with a swallowed back smile, urging Pansy to keep her voice down, thanking Ginny for speaking.

Guess they figured out just how long Hermione and he had started.

As everyone drank, Hermione remained empty handed. She was out of place without a goblet to drown after every uncomfortable encounter. He offered a sip of his whiskey; he only sipped his drinks now. She shook her head with a declaration of a sensitive stomach. The very stench of the Fishy’s Green Ale when the lid popped off the mouthwash bottle forced her away with a silent heave. 

Time wore on. The party fell back to a large group conversation as couples grouped together on the couches. Hannah and Neville sat with their laced hands between them, a respectable distance away. It was much too formal for him. Draco held Hermione in his lap, her face against his shoulder, legs thrown over his thighs. The smell of her breath perfumed the air. Her sounds so delectable, he crept his fingers up her bare spine, beneath her blouse.

Ernie laid on his back at their feet, Pansy beside him. Each was three or four drinks deep. Their red faces stared at one another with drunken glittery haze, so full of adoration that Hermione sighed as she watched the pair whisper sweet nothings under breath.

“I’ve never seen her so happy,” Draco muttered.

Hermione smiled. “We’re all happy. That’s what we all look like. Should have all these years.”

He agreed. They all were changed people.

Padma and Theo were in front of the blazing fire. She had one hand on his hip, one hand in the air, as she tried to teach him a native dance. Nott’s were uncoordinated, awkward wizards. All legs and elbows. He gave it his best shot, but Theo butchered the ancient dance with his lack of rhythm. Lucky it gave them both a great laugh together. 

They, weak legged from dancing or the bottle, stepped back to the couches. Padma fell against the back, gripped it hard like her legs gave out. Theo grabbed her up by her waist, he being several centimeters taller, her feet dangled above the floor as he plopped her on the floor next to Pansy and Ernie.

The Slytherin witch rolled over. “Padma!”

Her shriek cowered everyone away. 

The girls wrapped each other in a suffocating hug as they laid on the floor, too drunk to stand, giggling like maniacs in brilliant haze under a firewhiskey sky. It covered each of them. Hermione even seemed dazzled by a buzzed mood despite her sobriety. The vibrant joy in her laugh matched the rest of them. 

Draco was overcome with emotion. Whatever it was. It looked irresistible on her.

She caught him looking. When she smiled, her puppy brown eyes turned to slits. The beat of his chest slowed to a steady pace as everyone’s attention was captured by Sue Li and Tracey Davis locked in a heavy snog session. It was met with a thundering applause when the two pulled away, shocked by the step forward they’d taken with each other despite the fact they’d flirted the entire year.

From the drunkest club on the floor, Pansy spoke as if she wasn’t aware her mouth was moving. “I’m going to miss this.”

Draco knew one thing: she was hammered.

He thought to laugh, but a hush blanketed the joy, and he kept it to himself. Eyes turned sad. They looked down. Luna wiped the watery streams away. 

“I can’t believe we’ll never come back here.” Hermione agreed.

“I can’t believe we won’t be seeing each other every day,” Ginny said. Then looked over at Hermione and said, “Except us, Mione.”

Neville pushed a sad smile. “What are your guys’ plans now? Now that we’re done with Hogwarts.”

Susan sighed. “I’ve decided to go away. To China. Once I’m there, I’ll try to be a professor.” She swallowed. “Britain has gotten too many of us Bones.”

The Bones family was once a very powerful family. It’d been one of the first ones to go when the Dark Lord rose to power. 

Draco swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. He held onto Hermione tightly, hyper aware that he was the only ex-Death Eater. 

It was swept under the rug, or out of thought, since they mostly congratulated Susan on the decision and declared their feelings her absence an awful stab to their heart. There were teary-eyed hugs from Ginny and Hannah, two girls who were aware of the consideration, now depressed by the final decision. 

Always the comedic relief in the worst of times, Theo opened up his mouth. “Better than seeing your uncle snog your mother all over England like a bloody curse. I’ll gladly go to China with you.”

Susan smiled and wiped her eyes. “Doubt they have that fish ale in China.”

“Ah,” Theo said. “I’ll be sure to bring plenty then.”

“I’ll come visit, Sus. Once I get some time off from the Cauldron, after the wedding and all.” She blushed at the mention of the upcoming nuptials of her and Longbottom. He knew about it because Hermione talked on with no bloody end about it.

‘No better couple’ she had said, as if Draco and she were nothing but nutters. The two of them were bound to be the most successful powerful couple ever to leave Hogwarts and she only thought of her friend’s happiness as the reason the wizarding world would gain. Not the fact that Longbottom was too shy to do anything significant, and Abbott had to run a business like the Leaky Cauldron. 

Hermione and he were much better. They were smarter, stronger, and much faster than any other alive.

London hadn’t seen anything like them.

Luna was suddenly over Draco’s shoulder in her airy voice, so much closer than any person had ever spoke, that he jolted in his seat. “I’ll be Nargle hunting after exams. I’ll be gone for several years,” she said. “But if you are not married when I come back, I’ll gladly attend.”

Nargles. There was nothing in the magical world named a nargle. 

Draco looked at Hermione with doubt. She shrugged, seemingly well acquainted with such nonsense. 

“What about Weasley there?” Pansy suddenly interjected, two shades too loud. 

Ginny was wrapped beneath a blanket beside Hermione and Draco upon the couch. 

She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. “There’s tryouts this summer. I’ll probably show up to a few of those. See if I can get on a Quidditch team. It’d be nice since Harry will be living in London, I’ll be able to stay there when I’ve got my games.”

“You and Harry won’t live together then?” Terry pushed his glasses up his nose.

She shook her head. “Mum’s old school. Can’t live together until we get married.”

“Molly loves Harry,” Hermione reminded her friend. “I’m sure she’d be fine with it if you asked.”

The sharing had been relaxed. Draco didn’t mind the information though he doubted it was useful. Things changed after exams. Their plans might change three more times before it finally settled. He was lost in his own thoughts, only half invested in the conversation, when the question was finally posed to his witch.

Awareness flooded through his mind. All thoughts of his cleared away with the flick of a wand. 

Like the denial of Christmas holiday, Hermione and Draco hadn’t spoke of what to do after term. She had plans for the Ministry. Her mistreated creatures needed protection. He expected nothing less from his bleeding-heart Gryffindor, whom did everything in her power to rid the world of injustice, thus the reason why he ever got a shot at her in the first place. It was natural to her to stand up without care to her own safety. That was why she needed him.

She needed him.

Who was going to care for her when she gave it her all and couldn’t continue? Draco would pick her up from every challenge she faced that took it all from her soul. 

He sat a rigid board as Hermione answered to an entire group of strangers what her personal plans were.

“Well, after holiday, Draco and I plan to move to Surrey.”

_That_ was news.

If he recalled, she shouted about Surrey when he mentioned it last. A castle in Surrey was bloody ridiculous at Christmas, but now it was the plan?

Pansy raised to her elbows. “Surrey?”

Ginny gawked. “Together?”

“I’m retiring Wiltshire once Mother is done with it,” Draco explained to his friend. “It’ll burn before another Malfoy resides there again.”

“Of course, together, Gin.” Hermione looked at him. Her eyes swarm with such intensity, their magic grew up past the borders of their previous encounters. It exploded all around him. A wealth of love flooded his senses in riptides worthy of drowning. “I couldn’t do anything without Draco.”


	17. Separation

### Separation

Draco Malfoy glared out the window of the Manor with absolute seething hatred. Rage practically shook his fingers against the fragile fabric of the curtains. 

If he had to hear one more bloody thing about scones he’d curse the entire household.

“This clotted cream is delicious,” a woman raved. “Your elves make the most delightful scones, Narcissa. You are the best.”

He internally screamed.

Narcissa Malfoy fanned herself with a delicate ivory lace fan made for Draco’s grandmother as a wedding present. It was a family heirloom. Ancient. Brittle. Not the thing to don at afternoon tea.

Since he’d returned home, his mother said nothing regarding their Christmas encounter. She twittered about Lucius, whom she’d gone to visit in Azkaban, and her excitement over his return home. It was a chance for them to reconnect. 

Draco relented to her persistence. She was his mother. He had to give her a chance to be in his life. 

Only if she accepted Hermione, too. 

“They imported this all the way from Sweden,” Narcissa answered in the most subtle, boastful way. She indulged herself another bite of the strawberry and clotted cream scone. “They are the happiest cows, did you know?”

A young blonde witch hummed a soft agreement. “It is very tasty, ma’am. Thank you.”

Draco had been summoned for the little tea party with his mother, unaware that guests were expected to dine with them. He hadn’t appreciated being sprung on. Time at the manor was difficult enough without his mother parading him around like a prize pony freshly educated and barely acquitted wizard. In her eyes, that absolved him of all wrong. He was clean. A catch.

He kept a running tally of how many hours he had left to endure such torture of his mother’s company.

It was one more day until he was expected at the train station with his friends for Pansy’s holiday trip.

He hadn’t seen Hermione in two days. No word. Not a single letter from an owl, either. 

The magic that connected them was strained the farthest it’d ever been. It was stretched taut enough that the slightest disruption in the flow would ignite a superfluous reaction bound to make any situation ten times worse. Not that he cared.

Let the dishes and trinkets of the Manor shatter against the imported wallpaper. 

“Draco.” His mother hummed his name in her distracted delight. She forgot how much he resisted when the wards alerted them of visitors only fifteen minutes before. “Come away from the window. We’ve guests.”

Greengrass was the family that Narcissa Malfoy intended to unite with to create a lineage worthy of her approval. Since a wife of her son’s choosing was unacceptable, their lineage would be as well.

He was instructed by his mother to meet with the young witch in the beginning of term, which he had.

Astoria was her name. She was a quiet, tiny thing. 

In another world, she might have been a good wife for him. He did not deny she was beautiful and kind, and gentle, and pleasant enough. But the only one of his eye was Hermione Granger. He knew of that completeness that came with her in his arms and to throw it away for any reason was absurd. 

Pure blood be damned.

The very blood in his heart demanded her.

“I’ve not the taste for tea, Mother.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “There are things need tending to.”

“Nonsense. You have time.” Narcissa turned back to their guests with a gleaming smile. “He and some dear friends are taking a holiday. Celebration of their graduation, I venture. He’ll be gone for two weeks.”

“A graduation trip,” Mrs. Greengrass mouthed the words carefully. “An odd thing, isn’t it?”

“I think it a wonderful idea,” Astoria said politely.

He nodded his head in silent thanks.

Astoria was a student of Hogwarts. She was no fool. News of Granger and him was everywhere by the end of term. There was no ignorance when it came to the terms of which his mother misled. However, her mother was very unaware.

The tipping point of his fury, to which his mother would lose out on all chance of his forgiveness, was close. 

“Who is it that plans to journey with you? My Daphne would have if she’d returned,” the Greengrass mother said. She raised a dainty sandwich to her lips. “She’s been married, you know.”

“To whom is the great question.” 

Narcissa was a suspicious woman. She made it a point to discover secrets before things were revealed to her. The mystery of the eldest Greengrass daughter’s marriage left many questioning her absence and state. 

Draco thought an unplanned pregnancy got the better of her. She was an impulsive witch, much like Pansy. Luckily with better standards. Daphne did very well for herself in that aspect.

Still, it would ruin the family’s reputation within the circle of the 28. Greengrass’s would be blacklisted, never to find a truly noble family to marry again. A great tragedy for the younger sister, intended for the long coveted Malfoy heir.

Before the war, that was.

Coveted was a word not used with the Malfoy family any longer.

“Narcissa, please. I’ve said that the grooms order of the marriage was secrecy,” the witch muttered quickly, as if danger came from mere mention of the union. “Things were not so stable here in England. Neither of them wanted to remain in danger from their old lives. Please stop asking. Daphne will kill me if I tell.”

A great flood of tension coursed through Draco once more. Worry of Hermione’s safety plagued him.

The day she left Hogwarts, he had never felt so compelled to bury himself inside her embrace without need to return for air. Her magic radiated something strong. Something more powerful than his own control. It abandoned the usual rhythm of their attraction. 

Every primal need in his belly demanded he protect her. 

Something was changed. Changed in the way he reacted to her. Drawn was a word not strong enough to describe the way he wanted her. 

What was it? He relayed the question over and over again in his mind, returning to the same empty space where an answer might be with great anger. Anger turned rage. 

The bloody witch knew better.

“I still find it disheartening you cannot tell your closest and most trusted friends.” His mother faked a sorry pouting voice. “Even one about to marry off a son to your daughter. I should hate for deliberations to go sour over such a silly thing as this.”

“Well - .”

“Mother,” Astoria said crossly. “Please. Think of Daphne.”

“I thought we’d all come to an understanding, Astoria, dear.” Narcissa smiled void of all warmth and hope of distraction. She wanted to know. Clearly, she was ready to joust for it. “Soon we will be family. Us, Malfoys, like to know just whom we are associated with. Now, your sister would not want her secret to ruin your chance of marriage, would she? Who else is left but my Draco? Nott’s mess of a son?”

It’d been a while since Draco saw his mother use her wiles so efficiently. The woman was a true born Slytherin. She made her ways come to life with the slippery nature of her tongue, that of a serpent’s tongue, twisting one way then another until her will was finally done.

The meek mother of the Greengrass girls stumbled against it. Hurt bled across her face. Desperation came to her breath in short shrill pants. The woman had not the nature for such torturous friendships. She wanted to please everyone.

Draco was reminded of his friends at Hogwarts. Susan Bones was very similar to Mrs. Greengrass. She was loyal to a fault and when stretched with loyalties, it actually pained her. The witch was so kind and understanding. It drove him crazy. And yet, he thought of her in that moment and felt a great urge to rescue the witch from the pain she was twisted in.

He cracked his knuckles. “I missed Daphne this past term. She was a dear friend of mine.”

Mrs. Greengrass looked at Draco with frantic pleading in her eye. She missed her daughter, too. He knew that. Daphne was a personality. She was wild and happy and ambitious, never afraid to reach for what she wanted.

“She might have been invited on this trip had she been there,” he stated evenly. “Pansy is going. She knows Pansy, of course. And she could have made a new friend, too. Daph would have loved my girlfriend. They’d all be thick as thieves by the end of it.”

Narcissa hissed over her teacup. Astoria gasped a little. She covered her mouth to protect her manners, but he’d heard it.

Mrs. Greengrass was also affected, very suddenly. 

“ _Girlfriend?_ ” She blurted.

“Nonsense,” his mother retorted quickly. “Draco, you’ve really bumbled one of your jokes. You must learn your crowd.”

Her eyes were filled with murder as she silently willed him to quiet. 

He playfully nudged his mother’s arm with his elbow. “Ah, Mother. Don’t play at shy now.” Draco regarded the Greengrass mother with a forced appearance of beaming joy, one that any young son in love might radiate. “They met over Christmas holiday. Got on like that.” He snapped his fingers.

His mother’s blue eyes grew twice their size. If it were not for her disciplined self-control, her eyes would have turned the deepest shade of red with a dancing fire as a pupil. 

It only encouraged him further; the quicker it was over, the quicker he could return to his worry of Hermione.

“You know Narcissa,” he said with a chuckle. “She had to have a backup in case things fell through. My girlfriend is a spectacular catch. It was possible that our courting might dissipate. However, things have gone swimmingly. Now we have no use for your family. Isn’t that right, Mother?”

A refined witch kept her cool under the power of scrutiny. Narcissa was a highly refined witch. She withheld her blush no matter how mortified she was.

Draco was raised to be a proper gentleman. He was never to embarrass his parents by behaving as common as he had. It would be a lie to say he felt good about it. He did not. No matter how much she hurt him, Draco loved his mother dearly. The turn of tides left that love of little importance to the grand scheme of things.

A war had taught him a grand many things about his upbringing.

It was full of tradition and respect. He held onto those lessons. He would treat his wife with undying loyalty, love and support with nothing but her happiness in mind. Malfoy Manor would house his mother until the end of her natural life. The family secrets would remain within sealed vaults of the highest security. His children would attend Hogwarts. 

The traditions he prepared to end were the long standing belief that Malfoy’s hated mixed bloods. If another dark wizard rose up in Voldemort’s place, the Malfoy family would not be aligned with those intentions. 

A better father, a better man, a better person of society. That was his intention.

It was not truly his life’s intent. He wanted Hermione. And to have her, Draco had to become something better than he ever wanted to be.

Mrs. Greengrass’ mouth fell open. She was unable to speak. Months of the schmoozing one of the world’s most unnerving, controlling witches was for naught, a fact that was not well received.

His mother, on the other hand, flushed with anger. It was clear that she was struggling to talk herself out of the mess. Instead, she stayed perched at her seat as noble as a queen sipping from a teacup as if he’d said nothing at all.

Denial.

“Nothing has been set in stone,” she said with bitten back fury.

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the tea party. Not so apt to speak of scones now, were they?

“You…you…” Mrs. Greengrass stumbled. “You _bitch_.”

It took much to shock Narcissa Malfoy. She was prepared to deal with many realities. The idea that the mild Mrs. Greengrass might confront her never crossed her mind by the cross-eyed expression of total disbelief that turned the normally beautiful, poised witch into an old hag at a moment’s notice.

“I beg your pardon.” His mother had the gall to faux insult.

“You heard me. You’re a bitch. You’ve done nothing but bully and insult me for months now and you’ve had no intention of telling me of your son’s prospects!” The witch clamped her fists at her sides. She looked ready to boil the sea with one glare. “You may have the manners of grace and beauty of an angel, but you’re inside are filled with black rot. Every word leeched from your siren’s lips is poison. Those sickening things you say have turned my belly to ruin. I’ve dreaded every moment with you, and I’m relieved our children shall not be married. Because, you, Narcissa, are the worst woman I’ve ever been forced to meet.”

Narcissa’s eyebrows fly to her hairline. The dainty teacup crafted in the late 18th century clattered to the floor, sending shards of sharp porcelain in every direction.

Astoria’s mother grabbed her by the hand and raised to go. “Come, Tori. We’re leaving and never coming back to this place.”

Draco was jealous. He wanted to do the same thing.

The pair stormed out through the Floo eaten by green flame as he himself turned green with envy. He wished to Floo back to Hermione’s side and start his blessed life, not relive his dreaded past with his mother.

“Seeing as the tea party is done,” he chuckled in a moment’s delight. It was the best party he’d attended. “I’ll just be on my way.”

His mother was not so quick to dismiss him. She muttered a spell that slammed the windows and doors closed with thundering locks all latched tight.

“You will undo this,” she hissed. “You will make this right.”

“I warned you of this at Christmas.”

A shrill screech of utter frustration escaped his mother’s lips. “I will not have a mudblood live in this house, touch my things, touch you! And soil the very name that has made the both of us.”

Narcissa turned mental. Her long nails scratched through the fabric of her beloved furniture, ones she designed herself, clawed at the smooth surface of her tables, shredded the curtains to nothing but limp pieces of fabric on the floor. 

Draco watched the carnage that she reaped upon every surface with amusement.

For once, she knew what it was like to hate the very house she lived in. Just as he had during the war. When his father stained their name all the years ago when he’d joined the Dark Lord’s ranks as a minion of evil. It was revenge. The bloody revenge of all the stolen happiness of her son that came back with vengeance.

She stood in the center of the room; hair fallen into gnarled locks around her twisted face. Her chest heaved with each breath. Scraps hanged from the edge of her nails.

“Brilliant. Well I’m off to Gringotts.”

“What?” She screamed.

He enjoyed her distress like a warm sip of brandy. It heated his deadened nerves of luscious enjoyment.

Draco smirked. “I’ve got a ring to find.”

It was the last thing he wanted to reveal to his mother, and yet, he couldn’t help himself. The horror across her face was delectable. 

The bloodthirsty Slytherin inside him was long starved for a bit of terror. What made it better was the source. His parents deserved every wave of displeasure they received. That entitled distress turned a fine wine, one that he swallowed hungrily with unquenchable thirst. 

Had they left things alone, stayed away from Voldemort and his conquest, allowed Draco to live his own life, Hermione and he might have never came together as they had. Their lives were never bound to cross. Not until his parents made choices that forced the two together violently. That moment changed his future.

He was meant to be with the Gryffindor Princess. He was the Slytherin Prince.

Together their reign over London would change the entire world.

“You wouldn’t dare!” His mother pointed her finger. “The finest gold and silver are made for witches worthy of wearing it. A filthy mudblood of dirty lineage would spoil the metals to a common tin. Is that what you want? Your family turned to tin?”

“I much prefer tin.”

The grin invoked a violence out of his mother. She turned her wand on him, which he disarmed from her fingers in a second.

She gaped at her empty hand for a moment. “I am Mistress of this house. I do not permit this. You’ll not have a knut to your name if you take that filthy girl as your wife.”

It was the last straw.

Draco apparated behind her back, wand pressed to his mother’s throat like a common scoundrel. Hate seeped deeper to his core. She made him an animal. She stole whatever pride he had for himself and blasted it to pieces with each bloody word.

“I said you’d give Hermione your respect the next time,” he growled into her ear, “and I hold you to it. One more word out of that bloody disgusting mouth of yours and I’ll close it. For good.”

Her body tensed under his hold. She let out a startled gasp. 

Thankfully, she kept silent. 

“Father made me Lord Malfoy. You live in this house at my mercy, enjoy the delights of your little tea parties at my expense, travel to properties of my name, not yours.” It was his mother’s greatest fear. And he knew it. She loved the life given to her from her married family name. Her luxuries she refused to live without, the exclusivity the life of a wealthy woman gave her. 

If it was to be taken from her, the light that she lived by would be taken as well.

“All those pretty things in the deep Malfoy vaults are also mine,” he stated. “Push my temper much further and I’ll be tempted to melt them down into a jewel-crusted gold body suit for Hermione to wear.”

He left his mother in her destroyed parlor to rethink herself.

Draco apparated himself to Diagon Alley, more amused by the confrontation than anything. It lifted his mood. He landed in the center of the road just outside of the Leaky Cauldron. Loads of wizards and witches pushed past. The start of the summer holiday brought out many from the workings of the country. Many smelled of the country. 

Young children bustled the edges of the street, playing with their chocolate frogs and Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. One little girl hoisted a bottle above her head. Thick clouds polluted the bottle, with sharp cracks of thunder under the glass.

She started to tug at the cap but was stopped by an older boy (her brother perhaps) who shook his head. 

It was a Weasley product, so anything might have happened. Half the alley blown away. A strike of lightening gluing passersby to the walls. Anything was possible in the mind of them Weasley’s.

Draco walked down the lanes of Diagon Alley with a bit of nostalgia on his heart. He remembered the exciting time before his first year. His parents allowed him to buy out the shops with whatever he wanted. He left with three new brooms, ten books, a closet full of new robes and school clothes, a wand, two owls and a toad that he forgot at home and was later lost.

The alley seemed unchanged. Store fronts were in the same colors as they had been all those years before. The window displays showed the same exciting items with just the slightest upgrade from when he had pressed his nose against the glass in awe.

However, there was one change. The purple and orange building on the corner where a giant red head sat atop the building with scary, unblinking eyes. It was clear that a Gryffindor ran the place. The colors near blinded the alley with their neon glow rather than the muted neutrals of the rest of the shops.

Draco continued toward Gringotts at the end of the alley when a voice carried over the crowd.

“Malfoy! Hey Malfoy!”

He turned around to see a bouncing head of red hair through the dull alley. Upon further inspection it was followed by a bouncing, albeit not as much, head of black hair.

He snickered when Potter emerged from the crowd with Ginny’s taut hold on his sleeve.

“Alright, alright. You don’t have to pull so hard,” he groaned. 

Ginny rolled her eyes. “If you could keep up, I wouldn’t have to pull at all.”

“More than one second to decide would have helped,” Potter declared. “I nearly dropped my ice cream on a kid’s head back there.”

Draco and Ginny looked at his empty hands. Ice cream free. Potter noticed the empty grasp and turned in a circle, completely baffled where it had gone. 

“Oops.” He adjusted his glasses with a shrug. “Hi Malfoy.”

“Potter. How’s the Ministry?”

“Bloody boring,” he said flatly. “It just isn’t fun without Voldemort around.”

The man was a nutter. Voldemort made everyone’s lives hell. His included.

No, the world was a better place now. Sun shined brighter. Smiles were brighter. All was right in the world and all that other Hufflepuff ‘glass is half full’ crap. It was crap. All of it. 

The world was much the same. Life still sucked in usual ways.

Ginny then asked, “Heard from Mione at all?”

He shook his head. “No. Have you?”

“No.” She looked rather bothered the fact. “I know she said she wouldn’t be able to write, but Godric, she wrote everyday during summer holiday. It seems unlike her.”

“Did she tell you where she went?” He questioned.

He hoped, more than hoped, he prayed that they knew where she went. Being so far away made him sick with worry. Vomit lurched in his throat at the downcast glance of the Gryffindor witch. His magic was so tense. It reached out for hers farther than it could go. 

Draco knew that she was very far away. But he hadn’t a clue where. Or why. 

“No. She didn’t tell me.” The witch crossed her arms with a sigh. “She didn’t trust me not to tell you on account of ‘you’re too much like him to listen to me’. I was almost insulted by the assumption I’d tell.”

Harry scoffed. “You would. You’d tell him in a heartbeat.”

“Only because I know he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”

“She’s a grown witch, Gin. It’s Mione for god sakes. Everyone should trust her judgement above their own on anything,” Potter said. 

Draco knew those signs. He knew very well what Potter meant. That tone. That cavalier attitude of a wizard, who would be a shield for Hermione if she asked him to, was out of his character. It meant that either he suddenly lost his personality since becoming a Ministry drone (quite possible) or he was secure enough that he was not worried.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You know where she went, don’t you?”

It was tense in that moment. The heat of the packed alley, people on every side of them. His necktie became a noose. It rose higher and higher the longer strain built. 

Potter went rigid. “She told me… in case –“ The glare of his girlfriend choked Potter like a chicken bone. “in, uh, case of emergency.”

Ginny’s eyes grew two sizes bigger. “She told you and you didn’t tell me?”

The trio caught many eyes in Diagon Alley. Many stared at Draco with apprehension but settled when they saw Harry Potter near. Perhaps they thought if he decided to do anything unruly, Potter would intervene.

They passed by, with interest but without interruption.

He hadn’t realized but it was the first time Draco had been in Diagon Alley in a long while. He had avoided it after the war. Hate for his trial was a tender subject. Many had sent angry letters to his residence. _The Daily Prophet_ reported extensively on the issue of his freedom, too. 

It was clear the wizarding world did not want him apart. 

Draco was astounded by his disregard of his safety. Not once had it crossed his mind. 

“How could you keep that from me?” Ginny flared. “I’m her best friend, too, you know.”

“You said just this morning that you’d track her down if she didn’t write you tomorrow,” Potter pointed out. “Trust me, you can’t handle this information. You or Ron. You’d blab. Neither of you can keep a secret to save your life.”

It occurred to Draco that he should be insanely jealous. Hermione told another wizard rather than him. It was like she trusted her friend more than her boyfriend.

He was more relieved than anything. At least someone knew. If she needed help, someone could tell him.

Draco snapped his fingers. It interrupted the feisty couple banter.

“Is she safe, Potter? That’s all I want to know. Is it safe?”

Harry Potter’s bright green eyes observed him with great intensity. He felt them roam all over his face. Perhaps he was a bit baffled. Hell, Draco baffled himself.

There was nothing he wanted more than to see his witch again. He loved the way she smelled. The sound of her breath was like a favorite childhood melody; he’d remember it forever. Every curve of her flesh was engrained in his memory. His magic was half of what it was when she was near.

No, he respected her wishes. Even if it killed him, he stayed put until she came back. 

He might have to drug himself to prevent a nightly accosting of Potter when he missed her most, when the unbearable loneliness crept inside. 

“Don’t worry. She’s completely safe,” Potter declared. 

There was the unspoken acknowledge, though it wasn’t said aloud thank goodness, that Harry wouldn’t allow a thing to happen to her. He would have persuaded her to bring someone along if he’d been worried. That sated Draco’s concern. For now.

If she did not show up for the train tomorrow, that was another story.

“Up for some Quidditch?” Ginny asked. “George and Bill are coming to the Burrow. We like to have ourselves a game, but we’ve been short one. Why don’t you come round so Bill and George don’t get into a shouting match that ends in angry yard wrestling?”

Quidditch. He hadn’t played a game in a while. A little scrimmage might take his mind off his mother and Hermione. 

He nodded. “Think I can spare the time. Just got to pop into Gringotts here. Actually…would you mind coming with?”

The afternoon took a delighted turn when they reached the Burrow, fitted with their Quidditch gear and determination to win. George greeted him like an old friend. Draco felt welcomed in the familiar jovial side-shoulder-hug that the Weasley twin held him in as he declared them a team able to take on all the others. Bill, the eldest, had none of it. The teams had to be equal.

It was Ginny, George and Draco on a team. Ron, Harry and Bill on the other. 

Hot summer breeze blew through their hair as they raced across the makeshift Quidditch pitch. A gust flapped his traditional riding robe like a surrounding clap as he flew down the Pitch at speeds not suited for a friendly game. George and Ginny took the games seriously. He understood how hotly the Weasley’s ran. 

He thought Ron a hot head. It was nothing compared to the way Bill and George went at it on determinations of the rules.

While they wrestled in the dirt over whether it was a foul or not, the rest of the group stepped over them on the way to dinner. Mrs. Weasley greeted Draco like one of the gang. She fed them all plump full until none of them were able to move.

He expected the experience to be awkward without Hermione there, but there was a calm he found in being near her friends when she wasn’t around. Ron still disliked him. He was mildly annoyed with the Weasel. It was the circle they were bound to repeat over time. What made it worth it was the fact of how proud she’d be. He could just picture it.

That settled him deep in his seat.

“So, Malfoy, what are your plans now that you’re out of Hogwarts?” Bill asked politely. He was clearly strained for conversation with the wizard. He was a member of the Order during the war. All the Weasley’s were.

Once they were enemies.

Bill was a subdued wizard. His age gave him a quality that none of other ones possessed yet. Draco liked his company compared to Ron and Percy.

Harry, Ginny, Bill, Ron, George and Draco lounged around the cramped quarters of the Burrow in a lethargic state from the utter bliss of being stuffed to the gills of home cooked food. He would never say it, not even under pain of death, but it was a relief that he liked. Still, if Hermione asked, he’d complain and bicker as she’d suspect he would.

“Hermione and I are going on a transcontinental holiday.”

It was clear that Bill meant a career. No one cared what happened over holiday. Now that they were official graduates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry people expected high aspirations out of the fresh war veterans. The world had gotten enough out of them, hadn’t it? Why did they have to push on to rebuild when they’d been the ones who fought for it?

Bill feigned interest. “Sounds lovely.”

Red scars down the length of his face were a darkness that Draco recognized. Werewolf injuries. Their claws carried a magic resistant scarring factor that left those lucky enough to survive such an encounter permanently disfigured. 

That night. The night Draco didn’t like to remember, when he brought Death Eaters into the castle, Greyback had attacked a person there. He belly-ached over not being able to tear the wizard’s throat out. Some red hair bitch had stopped him.

It took Draco longer than he liked to admit to realize it was Bill Weasley who had been attacked. That meant the red-haired bitch was none other than Ginny Weasley who fought Greyback back to save her brother’s life.

Had Hermione defended him too? Was she just as devastated to see his face? Did their life suddenly change at that moment?

“France, China, Italy, Turkey, Romania.” Ginny relayed the itinerary like she’d been apart of the planning committee. 

He casted her a suspicious glance to which the witch rolled her eyes.

“I was there when she got the invitation. Not that I am overly interested in your shag holiday.” She pushed her tongue out and wiggled it. “Wanker.”

“I’ve heard different.”

She snorted. 

The word ‘shag’ caught the attention of the other men in the room. Their ears turned bright red. Hermione’s sex life was an uncomfortable subject, apparently, though the youngest one in the room was not uncomfortable in the least. In fact, it encouraged her. She loved ribbing Hermione about Draco.

He’d asked her about it once. Her reply had been one that made him chuckle.

“If she couldn’t take the teasing, it wasn’t serious. That was for the both of you.” She had patted him on the back with thudding jolts. “You’re welcome, Malfoy. I basically ensured your relationship to success. Seeing as my false interest made her want you even more. I expect a shout out during your wedding vows.”

Just at the time when Weasel’s brain finally ‘Lumos’ it’s way into a coherent thought, he was jittered in his seat. “ _Shag_ holiday? Does Hermione know? I swear Malfoy if you take advantage of her, I’lll - .”

“Hold up there, Ron.” It was George. He wasn’t as asleep as he seemed to be in the enchanted rocking chair. Although his eyes were shuttered close, his mouth moved on its own accord. “Before you say something you regret.”

“No, no. No shushing me.” Ron pointed a finger as if he had some line of thought worth the aggression. 

Draco stayed relaxed against the couch next to Potter and Ginny. There was nothing Ron could do in their presence. Ginny would murder him if he tried anything that sabotaged Hermione’s happiness. Draco was well acquainted with Ginny’s sense of loyalty to Hermione. The threatening glare of the Weasel gave him little insecurity.

Besides, if Molly discovered her son made a threat, she’d wring the wizard’s ear.

It was never addressed, but something about the Weasley mother was protective over Draco. She forced her children in line. Ron often at the snapping end of such statements. Draco didn’t understand it. He did nothing to deserve their respect or hospitality. None of it. 

“Aren’t we even going to acknowledge this?” Ron looked around at his brothers. “We all said so. At Christmas.”

“You said, you mean.”

“Right, well. I would know, wouldn’t I? I’m her best friend,” Ron declared. “He’s changed her. She’s all different now. Going to parties and dating a Slytherin. A shag holiday instead of work? You’ve got to be kidding me! This is Hermione we’re talking about. She reads books and studies and loves a cup of tea. Not a Quidditch match.”

The need to leave suddenly arose at the back of his throat. He felt tensions turn. Eyes of those nearby zeroed in on him. All of them, Gryffindors.

He was outnumbered. Outmanned. 

“Right, Harry? You even said she’s different.”

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” Potter proclaimed.

“Malfoy _made_ her different.”

Draco ran his palms down the length of his pants. He’d just about opened his mouth to bid his farewell before the curses started flying at him when the witch alongside him opened hers first.

“Are you seriously complaining about Hermione being happy, Ron?”

“What! No. I just - .”

Ginny slapped her knee. “For once she isn’t terrified out of her mind and stressed with worry over you and Harry being killed that she’s finally decided to live a life, and you’re angry about it?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“You’ve missed a great year with her, and I know that hurts. You’re the one who went to the Ministry. That’s something you got to live with,” Ginny said. “But Hermione is happy. Truly happy. If you can’t see that she loves Draco, you aren’t a very good friend of hers. And you won’t last long if you don’t get used to it. They’re moving in together.”

Ron fell quiet, shrinking a bit in stature. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So before you make an absolute arse of yourself, please realize that Hermione will skin you alive if you do this shit again,” Ginny warned. “That goes to the lot of you.”

One of George’s eyes slid open halfway. “We get yelled at for Ron’s stupidity. Typical.”

“Oh shut it,” Ron snipped.

“Where is the witch? She’s supposed to be here to put him in his place,” George groaned as he stretched back in his seat.

Where was she? It was a good question.

Anxiety twisted his insides yet again as he thought of her. Her entire protection squad was in the same room. Without her.

He looked to Potter with apprehension. Did he trust the wizard enough to ensure her safety?


	18. A Trio of Slytherins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR ALL THE REVIEWS/COMMENTS/KUDOS/FAVES of this fic!!! Really, it's been great to have a fic so greatly received by readers. It is my most requested one, hands down. You're all awesome. I have the best followers.

### A Trio of Slytherins

The platform at King’s Cross station flooded with tourists to London, normal morning commuters, and the occasional loiterer in need of a spare pound. Musicians of tangled and knotted hair pounded against stretched drums, scratched from use and transport of the London’s busy streets. An empty coffee can rested at the base of their feet as their songs either entertained or annoyed passersby.

Hermione clutched her purse close as she passed.

The area was known for pickpockets. She tucked her pockets deep, clutching her passport in hand. It was irreplaceable. The smooth blue cover stayed fixed between her fist as she made her way through another crowd of tourists, snapping photos of the steel grid overlaid a glass ceiling.

Juicy fat drops of rain splattered against the roof. It invoked a hum of ‘oohs’ as she passed.

Under a blinding curtain of camera flashes reflected on glass, Hermione made her way to the platform. It was the one thing in the building that was devoid of all human life. No trunks or trolleys or luggage of any sort rested near the edge, ready to be loaded. Three days before and the entire place was jammed with Hogwarts students with luggage as far as the eye could see.

It’d been a long three days. She yawned loudly. She couldn’t wait for a nap in the carriage.

“Trunk, miss?” The attendant stopped her as she passed. “Make sure it is labeled first. I will load it up for you, miss. Where is it? Where is the trunk?”

Shrunk in my back pocket, sir.

“No luggage,” she politely answered.

The man tipped his hat and allowed her to pass.

She approached the train stop, passport in one hand and purse in the other. A sudden rush swept behind her knees. The support of her magic abandoned her like the bones of her spine suddenly gelatinized. She dropped down to the platform. Her tickets flew out of her passport, flapping in a breeze from an undisclosed source, and drifted to the edge of the platform where a single line just fit enough for a slip of paper to squeeze between track and train. 

Bullocks.

Hermione grabbed hold of her passport and wobbled to standing when the fragile paper tickets flew off the ground, past her head at lightning speed and out of sight.

“What the - .” 

“Now, now, Miss Granger.” Her body flushed a sudden cherry red. That voice. It stirred up a deep feeling inside. “Careful now. You never know who might be listening.”

She turned with a beaming smile. “Draco!”

Another part of her settled into that forbidden space where only lust resided. It was that piece that she missed while she was gone. She was surrounded by his arms as he wrapped them around her petite frame, pulling her flush against his torso. Her feet dangled in the air.

Their magic twisted together happily. It was reunited, finally. 

Floods of ecstasy rushed her skin. Her toes curled within her sandals as the caress of his skin. A gush inside her folds permeated the air. It encouraged Draco’s roaming hands farther. Every inch of her was touched by his stretched fingers. 

She whimpered. There was no better feeling than his body under her. A wiggle of her hips pushed her apex against his hip in a delightful joining she could feel. He helped her reach the spot she wanted. It was like their minds were one again. That meld of their magics in just the right way near brought her to climax right then.

God help her, she wanted him.

“You’ve been in the sun,” he hummed as his lips gently pecked their way down her forehead to a pair of needy lips. She thrust a tongue into his mouth the moment they met. He smiled yet allowed her to continue the desperate pulling of him close though the space between them was nonexistent.

“I missed you,” she murmured. “You were right. These three days were hell apart.”

An amused glimmer came to his eye. He smirked with such delight, more than she saw when his taunts got underneath Ron’s skin, which was one of his favorite hobbies.

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s that look for?”

“I’ve finally bested you, Hermione. Top of the class admitted that I was right. I was right.”

He was entirely too in love with the idea. 

“Well if that’s what you like, a ninny who proves you right, we clearly aren’t an optimal match,” she observed. “Perhaps we’ve overestimated.”

The slithering grasp tightened underneath her thigh. “On the contrary, love, it keeps our minds finely tuned.”

She didn’t say it, but the vibrations of his magic were very tense as the idea of implying them apart. She felt them ceaselessly rubbing and caressing her power for some semblance of peace. It made her feel better. Things weren’t different.

“I love you.”

His lips latched onto hers in a quick breath. The need of his magic poured out into her mouth. She allowed herself lost to the strength of Draco’s desperation.

A group of snickering muggle tourists passed. She suddenly remembered herself. The release of his shirt lowered her back to the platform thus reality. An intense gaze of her love kept her own eyes from wondering around to see just who watched them dry hump on a train platform in the middle of the day.

The edge of her shirt had ridden up her chest. A line of peachy flesh peaked from below. Draco’s eyes stared at it very carefully, a dancing joy within his eye.

Unlike his usual behavior, he kept his desire to himself. He controlled it. 

Hermione was in that frantic place beyond a little control. She was brimmed with urgency. It hit her all at once. One look at that face made the mood for a shag all she wanted. 

Hunger melted away though she’d not eaten in favor of traveling to the train station. Lack of sleep gave her exhaustion a strong edge, but nothing was stronger than Draco. She pushed every other bodily need out her thoughts. They were insignificant. Everything was.

“Ready?” She asked eagerly.

He looked around. “Shouldn’t we wait for Pansy?”

Pansy? Pansy? Was he mad?

“I can’t,” she answered with a teasing grin. Just parting her legs an inch apart left that delighted smell of her excitement fill the air. It’s hot tang a delectable taste on their tongues.

Draco’s eyebrows hopped high as her scent drifted in his path. It was a high. His eyes rolled in their sockets as he enjoyed the moment. It was long last. Three days of endless need left the unstoppable urge to mount each other undeniable. 

He lifted her up, gave her a rough kiss, and carried her onto the train.

They stepped into their private riding carriage similar to the Hogwarts Express and threw all their things down to the floor without care. She heard items in Draco’s case shatter. Neither cared. They charmed the door, windows and the noise as they excitedly ran their tongues over inch of exposed flesh they were able to reach. 

Draco grabbed hold of each side of her jacket and ripped the fabric apart from the zipper with a loud rip. It propelled Hermione’s lust. She moaned, latching onto his belt with an absolute rage it kept his trousers on. Her lips kissed the flesh above her fingers as the belt buckle relaxed against the waistband.

“I missed you.” His ragged voice breathed into her ear.

Their chests pressed against each other, heaving flesh matched in rhythm with Hermione’s back pressed against the carriage door. The latch of the window dug into her spine. She didn’t feel the pain, only pleasure. Throbbing, aching, got-to-have-it-now pleasure. It urged her need harder. She bit the edge of his jaw as Draco’s fingers yanked shorts down off her hips to the floor. 

“Oh Draco.” She moaned. “Make me yours again.”

He growled as he tore her panties in two. Her throat rasped out a gasp, eyes lidded with such desire he might as well have whipped her. Her body wanted it all.

His cock rested against her bum with the same idea. She clung to his chest as the dense cock parted her pussy in a shocking jolt that sent her body rigid with sensation. A hot channel of lust shot down to her clit. The sensitive bud rubbed against his flesh as his cock shook it with each pounding thrust. Her moans turned primal as his body pushed her harder into the door.

“Never leave,” he said through gritted teeth. He pushed firmer into her. The head of his cock stabbed her innards with every intention to displace them. “Never fucking leave my cock without you ever again.”

There was no response she was able to give. Her mouth was forced to repeat her pleasure as waves tensed through her body. He slipped his finger inside as his cock thrust again. Rigid as a board. Her nipples near tore through her thin bra with need.

He sensed their need. A devilish flicker held his eye. “I don’t think I will.”

Hermione arched her back, so they were against his chest. It didn’t give her enough relief. His tongue. His teeth. Something. That wet taut grip on his mouth is what she needed.

“Please,” she cried.

“No.” He dug his finger deeper against her clit. She thighs shuddered until she neared her peak and screamed in frustration when it was taken away. The emptiness begged for fill. “I don’t think I will.”

“Please,” she begged again. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

He groaned when she slid her fingers down the length of his shaft. It turned a feral growl. Her body was thrust against the door again. It clattered against the force. The latch held their combined body weight but the wobble of the frame said it wouldn’t take much more abuse before releasing them into the corridor without pants.

“This is your punishment, love.”

Her eyes rolled back into her head. “Then punish me, Draco. Show me that I’m yours.”

She finally felt complete. Whole. The space of her left open in his absence filled her up with that goodness. Her head grew faint. His length buried inside her slippery warmth the way that shot tingles down her spine. One hand pulled at her rosy nipples. They turned bright red. And perked higher. It was more fulfilling than any shag they ever had.

He knew it too. Draco nipped at her collarbone, gasping breath, as he pulsated his cock in and out as fast as he could. She screamed as he neared the edge. Liquid dripped down his cock from her aching slit, wet and oozing for him. 

“Good girl,” he cooed.

She was out of breath against the door of a train carriage as passersby had no idea what took place inside. The thought that someone might see shudder a bit of thrill. It loosened her in excitement. 

He toyed an eyebrow. “You are glutton for punishment.”

She smirked. “Definitely.”

It was far from over.

They’d just slipped back into their clothes, lost in post-coital bliss, when the carriage door was ripped open to reveal a very soggy Pansy Parkinson with six pieces of luggage, equally soggy, in tow. She huffed in exhaustion. A line of damp carpet followed up the aisle to their carriage door.

“I _hate_ England,” Pansy fumed as she threw down piece after piece of drenched fabric off her body until she was stripped down to an undershirt and shorts. “I just might never come back to this bloody country. Raining all the damn time. It’s summer. A happy time. It very well could be the middle of October by the way it looks out there. I’ve had it. No, I mean it. Had it with all this rain nonsense.”

Her wand wretched open a bag and levitated a pair of black trackies to her own palms. It commanded her hair to twist itself dry. Then it proceeded to dry all her things until not a drop of moisture remained.

She slipped into her new bottoms with a sigh of relief. “Perhaps this country isn’t so bad.”

“Hello Pansy,” Draco stated in disbelief. “Need the room? Better yet, some privacy?”

“Pish posh.” The witch waved him away. “No secrets amongst friends.”

Draco scoffed. “I’d appreciate some.”

“Oi, Pans. Why you got no bottoms on?”

It was Theo. He sneaked his head in through the doorway. 

Hermione was shocked. She assumed the trip would be Pansy, Draco and herself. Theo on the trip would even things a bit better since numbers would be even. Draco alone with two witches was not a prospect he enjoyed. She beamed, ecstatic by the prospect of the friend’s holiday they intended to take. Draco’s mood would lighten with the revelation, too.

Pansy screeched. “I am fully dressed, dunderhead.”

“Where’s the fun for old Ern then?”

Theo had his arm slung over Ernie’s shoulder and pulled him into view. The Hufflepuff blushed pink, waved slightly and gave a quiet ‘ello’ before inching inside the carriage just to the cusp of Pansy’s mess of luggage splayed throughout the already cramped space. He brushed the fallen strands of brown hair out of his eyes when Pansy looked away from her belongings. She gave a small smile. It made him blush a brighter pink.

“Hello,” he squeaked. He then cleared his throat a bit and repeated it, without much change.

Pansy smirked. “Hey stranger. Come on in. I don’t bite.”

“Learned some manners over these three days, did you?” Draco snickered.

His girlfriend nudged his side a bit, biting back her own bemused smile. It was not like her to encourage the Slytherins to tease one another. But they did it so often that it was impossible for her to stop.

Their Slytherin friend wrinkled her nose and snapped a shock hex to his shoes. “You’re one to talk.”

His body twitched with the electricity. 

“Careful,” he growled once he’d recovered from the tremors. His brow furrowed. “You could have shocked Hermione.”

Pansy crossed her arms. “I do know how to aim. You’re a half a meter away.”

“Don’t be so careless, Pansy.” Draco narrowed his eyes.

“I wasn’t!” She stomped her foot. 

No matter how endearing it was when Draco became ultra-protective like a bodyguard, it was offensive to his friends when he made assumptions such as that. Hermione never once witnessed a sense of violence out of any of them since returning to Hogwarts. They’d all been respectful. 

If Draco wanted to hold grudges, he ought to be concerned with himself the most. He was the one who engaged her the most in their younger years.

Hermione tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Make up, you two. It’s going to be a long trip with that attitude.”

Neither opened their mouths. The damned pride of them.

She sighed. “Draco, you know Pansy wouldn’t willingly hurt me. Relax. Pansy. Draco is a bit on edge since I went on holiday without him. Don’t antagonize him yet or you’ll make one of those moods come and ruin our entire trip.”

“Now can we come in and get a move on?” Theo loudly proclaimed. “We’ve got a line in the hall here.”

Pansy nodded. “Congero.”

All her bags scooted together on edge. They formed one massive pile in the middle of the floor.

“Hey Sus. Head on. I only got a bit,” Theo said.

“Susan, too?” Hermione asked.

What a holiday!

“I’m not imposing, am I?” The sweet round face of Susan Bones popped into the compartment. 

“Of course not!” Hermione hugged her tightly. “I just didn’t think anyone else was coming along.”

Susan hugged her back. “Pansy invited me yesterday.”

It was very thoughtful. Almost, too thoughtful to be Pansy’s doing. 

Draco must have shared Hermione’s skepticism. They glanced at each other with concerned looks.

He weathered their separation better than Christmas. His face was not gaunt, stretched thin. In fact, there was a radiance to his face that attracted Hermione’s attention. She could not tear her eyes away from it. The corners of his eyes slanted; cheeks turned puffy as a smile emerged. His pale eyebrows disappeared with the pale flesh of his forehead. 

How her heart pounded. She could picture a bright-eyed, chubby baby Draco. Wrinkles upon wrinkles of plump soft flesh. Gah. How much she wanted to see that.

Draco quirked his brow.

“What?”

“You’re so cute,” she blurted.

She felt an overwhelming rush of love in her heart. It didn’t matter that their friends were within earshot and snickering behind their backs about it.

He cleared his throat, glanced around the compartment at the audience and swallowed. “Thank you. I was born with this face, so I can’t take all the credit, but I like to believe that I’ve enhanced beyond cute at this point.”

A graceless snort erupted out of Pansy’s nose.

“We can give you a minute,” Ernie declared after shooting a disturbed look toward his girlfriend. “You just got back, didn’t you Hermione? Haven’t even gotten a moment to catch up.”

Pansy crossed her arms, shrank ever so slightly and took a deep breath. She snuggled herself up against Ernie’s side. He engulfed her in his embrace with a single arm, pulling her tight. 

“Oh yeah.” Theo chuckled as if he’d just remembered.

“How was it? Did you find what you went for?” Susan asked.

Theo helped her load up her bags in the shelves above the seats. He plopped down on top of three of Pansy’s bags. Susan took a seat alongside Hermione, opposite. Pansy growled at Theo for wrinkling her blouses. Theo just shrugged. Slowly he sipped from a hip flash. The stench was distinct. That overwhelming Fishy Green Ale allure that teased vomit to the back of their throats.

“I did.” Hermione nodded. “It was a very successful trip.”

A swat at the soles of his shoes startled Theo to sitting, rather than an extended body rest against the entire bench seat. He held the lip of his flask between his own lips as he situated himself. He was undeterred by irritation of his Slytherin witch friend who always grumbled on about him to no end, fully aware that their friendship would last a lifetime, so concern of her anger was beyond his care.

Just like Draco and Pansy, Theo and Pansy were childhood friends. They grew up close. Their family mansions were at the tops of opposite hills. From the overlooking windows of Theo’s bedroom he could see the front gardens of Parkinson estate.

She was the one who he trusted with his secrets. All of them.

“Successful?” Draco pondered.

Hermione felt a sudden calm fall all over her. She hadn’t told him where she’d gone for a reason. It was personal. Intensely personal. Something to do with the war that just felt a sole journey for her to complete.

She had put it out of her mind during term. Once she completed her schooling, it became at the forefront of her mind. It needed to be done. 

“I did what needed to be done,” she confirmed. “Now I feel better.”

Draco looped his arm around her back and squeezed her hip slight. “Excellent. Now we can enjoy this trip Pansy planned.” Pansy looked up from her lovers locked gaze with Ernie in complete suspicion. “See if it holds up to the praises she’s given it.”

“Must you always be so negative?” She snarled.

“Yes.”

It was that typical Draco all-too-confident smirk that got underneath Pansy’s skin.

Theo gargled a mouthful of the awful ale before chuckling all too happily to himself. “Come on Pans. You remember him as a nipper?”

A delighted grin spread across Pansy’s face. Draco bristled. He shook his head vigorously which sparked more curiosity from the others. Especially Hermione. His reaction ripened her want to learn more of the Draco Malfoy before she knew him. 

“No. No. No.” Draco growled.

She clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh tell me, tell me!”

His friends were all too happy to Draco’s frustrated groan. 

He reached out with a pointed finger directly at Pansy. “Don’t. You. Dare.” Then it moved toward Theo. “We talked about this.”

Hermione was disappointed. She knew how awful he was. She was the target most often! 

It was no secret that Draco’s low points were lower than most peoples ever. Still, she wanted to know what it felt to be in his social group, what he was like with his perceived equals. It was a serious interest. All her life she was the butt of the popular kids jokes. She was never one of them. A peak into their realm was a lifelong curiosity that could finally be satisfied. 

Why was he denying her that slight joy?

Theo nodded. “Yeah. But we,” he gestured toward himself and Pansy, “talked about it more.”

Draco growled. “You two.”

“Can’t take them anywhere,” Ernie said. “Not together anyway.”

“They’re a pair of gossips.” Draco settled back in his seat, arm still clutched at Hermione’s opposite hip. 

Draco’s mood was not improving. There was no way to salvage it at that point. So, she was willing to push it to get the information she wanted, a move that would be appreciated by a Slytherin. Not her Slytherin. At least, not until very much later on. A week, perhaps. A month or two, tops.

She grinned, all too happy to be reunited with her love and her friends whom she’s come to yearn for. All their presences were missed. Hogwarts had been an intimate setting for their mature friendships. She wanted that feeling in her heart, always.

Part of her regretted, almost despised, the relationships she formed with people who weren’t her two wizards, Harry and Ron. She missed them. Their year at the Ministry had strained their trio dynamic. It ached her heart. 

But. That was their lives. 

Nothing would ever change her love of her two troublemakers. They were apart of her. She carried them in her heart, always noting things that she should mention to them or feeling a bit of nostalgia for her days with them all in Gryffindor Tower, but there was an honest pulling at their lives. Each one of them would go in their own way. Once Harry and Ginny married, Ron, too, would move on.

She hoped. 

Hermione slid closer to Draco. “Tell me about little Draco.”

Pansy arched an eyebrow. Her eyes glanced over toward Draco, and back to Hermione. She was very intrigued. A bit of delight shined. Theo took an interest into her reaction. It roused a sharp sense of hearing. 

“To our graves,” Draco instructed. “You said, to our graves.”

“What? Why can’t I know?” Hermione pouted.

“Is it something illegal?” Ernie squirmed suddenly in his seat.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Draco forbade us to tell Hermione about his childhood, so we didn’t scare her. Apparently, we were a cult of psychos as children all because we wanted to slay vampires.”

“Pansy!” Draco raised to his feet suddenly.

“It’s not that bad, Draco. Look. She’s not even mad.”

The tension in the carriage was palpable as Draco stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione sat, aghast.

“He told you not to say anything. He explicitly told you,” Ernie said in an atypical way, filled with emotion. “You _and_ Theo.”

It hurt Pansy to hear that tone from her boyfriend. His eyes were intense. For the first time in all her life, she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. She glanced back at her best friend. Theo read the look of discomfort across her face for the first time in a long while. 

Although it was not certain exactly why Ernie was frustrated with her, it pained her deep to hear him change at the moment’s notice to chastise her. She crossed a line.

“I didn’t say anything,” Theo grumbled.

Ernie regarded him crossly. “You encourage her. What is it with you two? Draco is your friend, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” they both answered.

“Then why do you do that?” Ernie questioned swiftly.

“Do what?” Theo quirked his lips in confusion.

Ernie sighed, palm to his forehead. Hermione knew the feeling. Slytherins were a different breed altogether. It took a while to break through the layers of bullshit that they surrounded themselves with to find the true center of actual tenderness. They all had it. That’s why they guarded it behind stone walls with venomous speech. 

Slytherins felt things deeply. Their people held a place in their core, a sore spot of tenderness, something they despised for the vulnerability but cherished in the same manner. They did not associate well. It was clear that they all struggled with social skills beyond their group of childhood friends, since all Slytherins flocked together, they truly never related to other types because they didn’t know how. 

But they were adults now. The allure of pureblood Slytherins was gone. They all had to realize that it was not time for the thick walls around them. Life was passing by. It was time to experience the world with their other friends, blended together and sensitive to the others.

“You made Draco upset on purpose,” Susan explained. “He’s clearly mortified by it. Look at how he reacted. He wasn’t ready for that. And as his friends you should have known how hurt he’d be.”

Pansy tried. She really did. It just did not click.

“He knew we knew it. It’s not like it was a secret. He had to know it would get out.”

“Why? If you two, his best friends, knew, then he probably trusted you to keep it to yourself because he trusts you!” Ernie regarded Pansy in disbelief. “Would you really tell the world my secrets if you learned them?”

She thought a minute. “Well, no.”

“Then go find him and apologize,” Ernie instructed as he pointed toward the door.

Although Hermione was his girlfriend and it felt very much her place to go find him and comfort him, Pansy had a way with Draco’s mood from years of practice. She left it to the professional. It was not done without jealousy. Hermione wanted to be that person for Draco, but more than that, she wanted him happy.

A Gryffindor was so different. Course, she didn’t comfort Gryffindors well either.

The train carriage was silent as they charged on toward Brighton. Paris was the first stop on the trip.

Susan and Theo told Ernie and Hermione of their plans once they reached China. They were going to work at a school. Susan, for a while. Theo was undecided whether to stay forever or for sabbatical. England was too tense for him. But, it was a world he knew well. 

“I can’t abandon Sus, though. If she needs me to stay, I’ll stay.”

It was sweet to see the way Susan looked onto Theo with admiration. “Thank you, Theo. It will be great to have a friend.”

“Will you live together?” Hermione asked.

They look at each other for a while with question. Neither clearly thought to ask. 

China was a different world from England. Practices, prices, tradition and acceptance were diverse. Their magical community was immersed in with regular society. The need to hide was not as paramount as it was in Europe. It was rich. Full of life and respect. 

Theo shrugged his shoulders. “I’m game.”

“Me too.” Susan grinned.

“See, Theo? You can be a good friend.” Ernie crossed his arms. “When you wanna be.”

He was mildly insulted. He rose to sitting, desparate to regain a bit of pride. “Who can do a thing to Susan? She’s too sweet to tease. I once watched her tear up over a book about a horse.”

“An injured horse! And a girl. She lost her leg and the horse was hurt and traumatized and they both were so hopeless that people gave up on them.” Susan pulled the book out of her bag. “But then the man saved them both.”

“Oh my Salazar. You _brought_ that bloody book?” Theo shook his head.

The Hufflepuff nodded. “It’s so good.”

“It makes you cry!”

“I still like it,” Susan replied quietly. “I just need a hug afterward.”

Theo scratched the back of his neck. “Looks like I’ll be hugging the witch all month. Bloody hell. Why can’t you read happy books?”

The group conversed for over an hour until they pulled into the station at Brighton. Pansy and Draco still hadn’t returned. So, they gathered the luggage of Pansy, all hundred pounds of it, along with their own and marched onto the platform overloaded with their belongings. Susan and Hermione were the only two who had shrunk theirs into their pockets. 

They hopped onto the platform, surprised at how busy it was. London had been deserted.

Theo offered his arm to Susan, which she took, and led through the crowd toward a little café in the station. Ernie and Hermione followed. A bit of cocoa sounded like heaven. It’d been a while since Hermione drank something warm. A lacking in her body was that deficit of tea.

The past three days had been rushed. She hadn’t sat down to tea since Hogwarts. There was too much to be done. Her body was sore and ached from the days of overuse.

Susan found a table for six. She waved them over and they all descended with relief. 

Ernie and Theo brought them their drinks; there were so many people in line on their way to work. Hermione sipped it happily. The warmth slid down her throat and instantly warmed her blood. It made her magic ignite with life. It’d been stretched thin and bone tired at the end of term.

A holiday of relaxation was exactly what she needed.

It was sometime later that Draco and Pansy marched through the doors of the café in a better mood than they’d left. Hermione felt him before she saw him. Their magic raced toward the other in a greedy need to unite. 

Calm settled deeper into her bones then. All at once, she felt much better. Tea and Draco. Good friends. Holiday. 

Life was good.

His hands touched her shoulder gently as he helped himself to the chair beside her. They shared a smile when their eyes met. The sulking mood was gone. The gray of his eye was light and bright. All seemed better.

Even Pansy and Ernie made up.

“Right. Now that it’s all sorted. Where we off to now, Pans?” Theo asked.

They’d all finished their tea and sat in quiet conversation, all too happy to continue their day in such comfortable company and generous service. 

Pansy dusted flakes of her biscuit off her hands. “Port.”

“Port?” Everyone replied.

The proud Slytherin witch flipped her long hair back over her shoulder. “Our next ride is a ship.”


	19. Chapter 19

### Exploration

“Wow. Look at this place.”

“No way. That view is…I could stand here all night.”

“Oh! It’s so beautiful.”

“Do you think the Queen has stayed here before? Look! Golden tea cups. Literal gold.”

Hermione barreled right through the gathered crowd in awe of the flat. She held a hand to her mouth.

“Where’s the loo?” She demanded.

“I think there is one in there,” Pansy said lazily, far more interested in the crystal drinkware placed against a slate black bar in the corner of the room adorned with large bottles of foreign alcohol.

As Hermione rushed through the directed door, a chorus of “what’s wrong with her?” followed.

Draco growled with frustration. A boat ride with everyone had soured his temperament. Between the complaints of the group not being catered to on the ship and Hermione’s constant seasickness, the experience left him drained. He hadn’t been able to reconnect with his girlfriend since she’d arrived, and it made him restless. 

All he wanted was her alone. Not Theo’s constant rambling.

“A damn boat, you idiot.” He glanced inside the room that Hermione fled through and was satisfied. “We’ll take this suite then. Now I’ll bid you all a goodnight. Keep it down.”

He latched the door behind him. An interruption would make him irate.

The suite was as large as the master in Malfoy Manor. It was filled with shades of pale icy blue and white. A wall of gray wood planks stood behind a double king bed topped with fluffy duvet of white. Silky blue pillowcases and throw pillows of a pale yellow were perched at the base of a simple white headboard.

Off to his right was a wall of crystal-clear glass. It overlooked a brilliant city scape as far as he could see.

A simple desk was there as well. An oversized dresser was off in a corner, a single vase atop it with giant white lilies.

He rather liked the room. It would do well to calm their energies.

A light underneath a door off to his other side sounded like a loo. He knocked against the wood gently.

“You alright, love?”

She groaned. “No.”

Hermione laid at the base of the toilet. Brown curls covered her face. Her hands still held her mouth closed. Draco frowned. He gathered up her slender body in his arms, carried her to the tub in the center of the magnificent room, and started to run a warm bath. A bit of oil sat on the edge of the cast iron. He dripped a bit in.

As the warm water filled, he carried Hermione out onto the private balcony. It was a large balcony filled with exotic plants. Hidden within their leafy depths was a canopy. He pushed past palm fronds, Boston ferns, Bamboo Orchids and red pineapple plants to discover a hideaway beneath a burlap canopy. There was a small fire table lit with tall purple flame, a pool of shimmering lily pads brimmed with leaping frogs and a bed adorned with plush pillows. 

A soft hum of melody took him by surprise. He spun on toe with interest.

It was too beautiful to ignore but the witch in his arms was more so. He brought her back inside, waking her from her dizzy daydreams, and helped her into the warm water. 

Her head fell against the back of the tub. It brought her suddenly alert.

“Draco?” She asked as her eyes fluttered open.

“I’m here,” he answered.

Beneath her breath, on the lure of a whisper, she mumbled, “I have something to tell you.”

He searched through her pockets of her discarded clothes. A bit of puke had found its way onto her shirt. What pocket were they in again?

Thank Salazar for magic. “Accio.”

Her belongings gravitated toward his outstretch palm and enlarged to their normal size. It popped open to reveal a neat, organized case with a stack of books a quarter of the space. He laid hands on her favorite pair of pajama pants and ragged National Gallery t-shirt.

They were placed near the sink. As was her toothbrush.

He found the trusty satchel with her personal stash of potions and other items that she wouldn’t be caught without. If there was anything to help her, it had to be there. He’d apparate to a nearby drugstore if he had to.

The tub was filled with bubbles. She laid her head against the back of the tub, hair half in the water hair out. Every so often, she’d gag. It brought forth a horrid sound.

He grabbed hold of a Pepper-Up. “This will help with the nausea.”

The potion worked wonders.

Hermione was roused to consciousness. Her eyes regarded him softly with pleasant swirls of their brown puppy bliss hue. Her skin glowed. A bottom lip, often bit to hell and deflated under stress, was plump red in that undeniably sexy way that drove him crazy. He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

She had other ideas.

Fully clothed, Draco was pulled into the bubbly bath water. A pair of lips latched onto his as warm water surrounded him. It filled him with a surge of relaxation that landed his body limp in her hold. The slippery small hands wrapped around the front of his chest, clutched against his rib cage and held him close as their lips locked together, unwilling to part.

“Mine,” she muttered softly.

He felt a blossom of pride spread against his chest. “Always yours. At twilight, in a hurricane, the eve of my death. I’ll always be in love with you.”

She visibly melted in his sight.

“I love you, too.” She kissed him gently. “My white dragon.”

They spent the rest of their night asleep under the stars on the balcony. Neither wanted to part. The exhaustion of separation had their magic ready to rest alongside one another again, just as they did in Hogwarts. 

There was that beautiful melody again. “Those sounds. Is that some kind of Muggle contraption?”

“No,” she said under the breath of a sigh. “It is the frogs.”

He looked over at his side. Sure enough, the frog’s bellies moved to the rise and falls of the music. It gave a serenity over the night. They laid together, half asleep, drowsy from their travels, relieved to be reunited and still tense from their separation. 

Hermione fell asleep not long after. Draco, not so easily done.

Anger coursed through him as he, again, eyed bruises all over Hermione’s body. Little ones. They were a light purple hue, not enough to be serious injury, and yet, it still was enough to cause great concern and frustration.

Potter had said she would be safe. 

Bruises were not safe. 

Draco couldn’t leave her side else she’d awake, but he couldn’t tolerate the feeling in his body. 

Who would damage her beautiful body? Why would she allow it? 

Sleep came in fits. He didn’t have nightmares like he did when she was away. Still, he’d awake every hour in discomfort, checking over her again and again. Something was different. Still. Her mysterious trip hadn’t solved it.

There was a disruption in their magic. He noticed the things about her then. The way she slept like in hibernation rather than on an eggshell as she used to. It made her more settled, solid. She was more connected to him in a way. Their thread was dense, thick, more flexible. His magic recognized the difference in hers. It coursed toward the changes. There were parts that were louder, stronger, higher. He didn’t know what they were; he just knew the difference.

They rose with the sun, as they always did. She, sooner than he.

Hermione handed a letter to an owl on the railing of the balcony when Draco stirred alive. Bright morning sun shined down through the thin canopy. He waved his wand with a charm that suddenly shaded the entire balcony. Thinking suddenly, he waved a privacy ward over top their balcony. It would appear empty and unused to onlookers.

She watched him approach. Her loose t-shirt flapped in the breeze of the Paris air. The city was loud in the morning. 

Cars and trolleys and buses moved through the veins of the Muggle city in their own loud applause. 

The morning gave her a brilliant glow. Her skin, usual peachy pink, was golden in the light.

They watched the city move in silence from their owls nest high above. Draco stood behind Hermione, curling around her bent form, and held her body close. He relished the feeling all too much to disregard the opportunity. 

She sighed, full of relief. “Three days. Three days without you and I wake up this morning, in Paris, with you. It is heaven. I never thought it could feel so good.”

He was surprised when she sniffed. A distinct line of water bubbled within her eyes. He embraced her tight. Their magic was steady. She was not too upset. It typically changed when strong emotions got the best of her. But it was the same.

Draco swallowed back the worry that their connection was different, though the idea still tugged at the depths of his mind, he stayed as a hugging post for her to bury her face into. She pushed into him. Her nose rubbed against his naked chest bringing herself deeper in the embrace.

“Hermione…”

She glanced up.

“You’d tell me, wouldn’t you? You’d tell me if something was wrong.”

“Are you accusing me of being secretive?” She grinned. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

It didn’t help when she responded amused with his query. He was serious. Her protection and comfort was at the forefront of his life’s purpose. If a single thing was not perfect, he wanted to know. She deserved perfect. She deserved everything the world had to offer. It was why he helped finance the luxurious transcontinental holiday that Pansy planned, loads over budget. 

“The trip. The bruises.”

“Bruises?” Her brow furrowed.

He nodded. “I saw them. Last night. You’ve got little bruises round your elbows, one on your forearm, many on your knees, one on each hip.”

“I bruise easily.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t mean I’m being secretive.”

“Not telling me where you went does.”

“You said you’d trust me,” she muttered softly. 

“I trust. I trusted Potter when he said you’d be safe. I didn’t press the issue. I didn’t torture him to tell me where you’d gone, I didn’t manipulate or question him. I trusted him. I trusted you. But look. You return with bruises all over you.” He lifted her arm and showed the small stained flesh on her arm. It broke his heart to see that little bit of flesh that he might have protected. He hoped a gentle kiss would heal it. It did not. “I can’t do much for you, Hermione. I’m not Potter. Nor am I a Weasley with a superior sense of morals. I do not care for much. My name hardly matters any more. There is little that I can give that you have use of. But one thing I can do is dissuaded people from hurting you. At the very least, take a few curses for you.”

It was entirely too honest. Chills trickled down his spine. The feeling was uncomfortable. He felt on edge, ready to have to defend himself for such sticky, clingy feelings. 

Lucius Malfoy punished for such attachments. There were no pets nor items of sentiment kept longer than one year except family heirlooms that were treated as gold. Draco was never permitted to prefer company. He was forced into differing peer groups lest he become too comfortable with a certain person. 

Pansy and Theo were exceptions because their parents were close friends of Lucius, a term applied loosely. Lucius benefitted from their company rather than cared for their companionship. 

Everyone was replaceable.

That was the lesson he was raised to believe. Others were drones to be used and abandoned. Like toys.

The only ones to remain loyal were to family. The only trusted circle on which a Malfoy could depend.

As a child, Draco tried his best to carry himself with the same detachment as he was raised. He distanced himself. Pansy and Theo were dropped and picked back up to appease his father, although it made Draco ache with loneliness when they were not able to come to his home. It turned his mind to darkness. He started to yearn. He wanted acceptance. He wanted love. 

That blind child he was trusted his own parents to be the ones whom picked the right path for him. It led him right to the mouth of Death Eaters. He agreed to the course under threat of death and the eventual pride of his father.

The openness of feelings made him very uncomfortable. He knew that it was not wrong; it was not shameful to love someone and put himself out there. The suffocating discomfort never ceased.

Slender fingers snaked across his cheeks, cradling his face in their palms, and pulling them close to a pair of large, brown eyes. 

“You are worth more than a human shield, Draco. A thousand more Galleons. A hundred thousand more Galleons. And I’d never let anyone, even myself, use you like that.” Their noses touched.

“Oh my Salazar. I’m going to puke!” A voice interjected through their bliss.

Draco growled. He narrowed his eyes at the sudden intruder to their space.

“I locked the door,” he snarled. “That meant we didn’t want visitors.”

Theo helped himself to a bag of chocolate coated almonds from their suite. He dismissed Draco with a swing of his hand. “Ah. A locked door is just an invitation.” He spun on toe. “Whoa! This is way better than my room. It’s a closet compared to this. Holy – is this a bathtub? Outside? These Muggles are some outrageous people I can get with.”

He went to inspect the tub.

“It’s called a jacuzzi,” Hermione informed him. “A hot bubbly pool.”

“To swim?”

She chuckled. “More like, enjoy. You just sit in the warm water. These jets pushed water and air out to sort of massage the back.”

Draco was ready to kick Theo out, and quite possibly his arse, when the rest of their party joined them on the balcony. He gritted his teeth as they marched in. Upon seeing his expression, Susan Bones pushed a sad smile and mouthed, “sorry.”

He knew it wasn’t her idea to barge in. It stunk entirely of Theo and Pansy’s nonsense.

“Your suite is bigger than ours.” Pansy pouted.

“Bloody well be, how much I paid for this place. I expect all my rooms to be the good ones.”

Hermione paused. “You paid for the _entire_ trip?” She glanced at Pansy. “I thought our fee would cover it all.”

Pansy shook her head. “I was a tad over budget. But it was all so perfect. I couldn’t let it go to waste. Can you imagine us in a hovel in China somewhere? No. That wouldn’t do. Draco covered the rest of the tab.”

“I’ll have to pay you back for it,” Hermione said.

“Don’t,” he grumbled.

“But I can pa -.”

“So can I.”

Pansy soon interjected. “You two can discuss this later. We’ve got a schedule to adhere to. First, there is a great little place to go. The muggles love it. The Eiffel Tower. Then the Louvre. It’s a museum of some kind. Then…oh right! We’ll split into groups. Susan and I will hit up this robe shop in the wizarding district. Ernie and Theo have planned an outing of their own to something or another. And Draco and Hermione are seeing the Palace of Versailles. Then we’ll get together for the Catacombs of Paris since those are spooky muggle burial grounds. I will not go alone. And we’ll break apart again, same groups, for a bit more fun stuff.”

It was an impressive itinerary. 

“What are you two going to do?” Draco asked Ernie and Theo as they all exited the flat toward their first stop.

Pansy insisted they experience Paris in the Muggle way. She was under the impression that Hermione preferred it. They all walked on the sidewalks as every other tourist did.

“Don’t tell Pans,” Theo whispered.

Draco rolled his eyes. It wasn’t good if the troublemaker couldn’t tell his sidekick about his plans.

“We’re going to pubs.”

“The whole day?” 

Draco was full of skepticism. Ernie was a light weight. Theo was wasted often enough that one would assume Paris would break the habit. At least half a day. He estimated only two hours before they were blasted beyond recognition and he had to come sober them up before Pansy got ahold of them and literally sucked their souls out their limp bodies.

“Yeah. Ern’s got a lot to learn about the iron claw and I’ve only got so long as this holiday to teach him,” Theo explained. “It’ll take a whole day of ale just to get through. That doesn’t even include his questions.”

Ernie looked nervous about the outing but said nothing to the contrary. He nodded. 

The poor sap had no idea what kind of day he was going to have. 

Draco offered his hand which was received with confusion but shook firmly. “Good luck, mate.”

The day was filled with excitement beyond expectation. Their hostess hadn’t accounted for all the exposure to Muggle culture in a single outing. There were so many inventions that fascinated the group. Theo, more than once, strayed to a stranger to ask about their hand-held machine, dazzled by the size and color and purpose. 

“They talk to another muggle in it,” he revealed to the group when he’d finally been pulled away. “Yes, that thing. That small silver thing enables them to speak with someone, no matter how far away. I know. It does seem magical. One man let me inspect it. It is under no spell. Just silly funky other silver bits inside it.”

Susan looked amazed. “What do they call it, this magic talking thing?”

“A mobile phone,” Theo answered.

The group ‘ahh’ed. 

Hermione took charge to direct them through the crowds of Muggles. She took extra time to account for their slow, engrossment into others as they walked to the attractions. Theo and Pansy were the worst. They had to be yelled at multiple times and pulled away from complete strangers as they asked questions about simple things. 

Draco himself was out of his element. He kept quiet. However, his eyes absorbed the other word with keen interest.

One day he’d be a part of that world. As uncomfortable as that made him.

It was not the fact they were Muggles that concerned him. The fact that he was at a disadvantage in the world left him feeling rather inadequate. Hermione was an expert in both worlds. He had to model some level of comfort when around them or else she might try to help and make him feel worse.

He was an intelligent man, not a ninny.

The Eiffel Tower was a structure raised to the heights of the sky by the muggles for the fascination of seeing large useless things from kilometers away. Draco found himself impressed by the creation without the assistance of magic. It killed him to not understand. At one point, he toyed the idea of asking how it was built, but the words fouled on his tongue. He swallowed them back down.

There were many kissing couples at the top. The muggle women were dazzled. They sighed as they overlooked the very city from which they’d just come from. He thought about snickering when he noticed the way Hermione’s breath stopped as she looked out to the distance, a pause in her breath.

Something was in the sight that he did not feel. Not like the other men.

Draco pushed the insecurity away. He captured her off-guard, just before she breathed another sigh, pressed a firm passionate kiss upon her lips. It took a few moments to be sure. There was no explicit response from her. Not until her magic swirled with delight. 

When he withdrew, she blushed a hot pink. He overlooked his shoulder and nodded to Ernie, who at that point had felt just at a loss as he was. The Hufflepuff shrugged and kissed Pansy on the lips. He should have known better. One kiss and Pansy had jumped into his arms, ready to make it an epic snog. It made several muggle couples uncomfortable. They grumbled amongst themselves. 

Theo broke the snog session with a few words to which the witch shrugged, dismounted her boyfriend and preceded to descend back to the ground. 

Louvre was next. It was a museum of art. There were not just landscapes and portraits as the wizarding world often held. Some were shapes, colors, splatters of paint on canvas and paper. 

Some he recognized. The Grecian and Roman sculptures were ones like his family had in Wiltshire.

When Egypt was mentioned, the entire group perked. They fled through the corridors toward the exhibit filled with golden treasures and artifacts of ancient magic. Ancient Egypt was a historic place for wizards. Magic was their lifeblood. They created many of the curses used today. 

Susan and Ernie eyed the mummies. They listened to the muggles in costume as they explained each gruesome aspect of the process that bodies underwent to become such a creature. 

Pansy Parkinson’s eyes were the widest they’d ever been as she saw the costumes of Pharaohs and Queens past. Her interest was intensely captured by the crown. It was red with a large curl over the extended cap. **Deshret** was on a sign nearby. 

The power of an entire civilization as Egypt in something as simple as a crown. A hat, essentially. 

Theo read through the exhibits explanations of tools and weapons all laid underneath thick glass. 

Draco knew just where his witch drew. Of one of twenty rooms within the museum filled with treasures of the great fallen empire of Egypt, there was one that contained old scrolls. It was a dimly lit room. Lights shined above each scroll upon the wall, and nothing else. Few wandered within the room. Nothing but ancient knowledge upon scrolls within interested muggles very little. It was just the thing Hermione loved.

Sure enough. She was lost inside the collection of scrolls when he found her. Her hands were raised outward, but never touched. It was a rule. He heard many of the employees reiterated the fact that touching was not acceptable behavior. 

“There you are,” she said with a smile when she noticed him leaned against an empty space of wall. “Thought you’d be glued to the collection of crowns.”

The playful twinkle in her eye warmed his heart. Perhaps nothing was different with her. His worry might be all that convinced him of change. 

“Pans beat me to it.”

She smirked. “Not in the mood to fight for it?”

“Much too Gryffindor for me, love. I’ll just wait for her interest to be captured by something else. Shan’t take longer than a minute or two.”

“Only a minute for all of ancient Egypt?” She laughed.

“An hour then,” Draco replied. “But my patience is far more than hers.”

Hermione gave him a peck upon his cheek. Tingles radiated across his face 

“What shall we do with the allotted hour?” He whispered. 

It was a knowing look that she gave. He was very aware that there was much to see, perhaps too much within the museum to be bored with in a day. Their hands knotted together so that she might make it easier to drag him to all the scrolls on display.

“Did you know that the ancient Egyptians didn’t actually write in hieroglyphs?”

Draco listened to Hermione speak of all the scrolls as if she’d read each one. It warmed his heart to see her so excited by something as simple as a prehistoric scroll. She spoke with her hands requiring that their hands break apart so that she might iterate her points.

He knew more about Egypt than he let on. 

A brilliant sheen overtook her aura as she spoke at length, a brighter light than he ever saw before, and there was not a fragment of his soul that wished to cast shade over her otherwise vibrance. She yearned to share. It excited her to drag him to another scroll, the source of her fascination as it spoke of gods amongst the living, able to conjure beings and command animals and summon up otherworldly abilities not given to anyone.

Witches.

They spent a long time within the depths of the museum. But then came the time for the group to part. It was time to branch into their own personal designed activities.

Draco and Hermione walked hand in hand toward a road. A flood of people washed over the city, walking every which way, of every shade and size imaginable. Dogs, too. They were proudly displayed on leashes as their owners moved through the crowds, at the great inconvenience of all other pedestrians.

They split through the crowd and hailed a cab. It was operated by a large old man with hairy ears. Draco swallowed back the bile when the little gray hairs whipped in the air of the open window.

Sensing his discomfort, Hermione patted his knee gently. 

It did help. His anxiety melted away. 

Although it took a long while in a small car, when the palace entered view, it was worth it.

France was no stranger to grandeur. With its palaces, no expense was spared toward the regal upstanding that the monarchy of the French required. Two magnificent wings stretched out like a butterfly. Old brick of red surrounded a courtyard of marble, black and white stones, columns scattered about the three stories. Pale marble busts of fallen Roman emperors decorated stone tables. Their expressionless faces stared out at a filled courtyard of tourists, once the grand place for the King of France and his noble court.

Acres of gardens abut the backside of the palace. Circle ponds of brilliant blue water were encompassed by matured trees, stretched manicured lawns, walks of pale stone statues, and miles of unblemished country side meets cityscape.

Draco and Hermione walked at a snail’s pace throughout the first part of the palace, the original building back before it was foreseen as a true home of the king and queen. Their hands held each other tight by their side. Their eyes explored royal apartments, leaving no fixture or furnishing unturned. The petit appartement de la reine, otherwise known as the queen’s apartment, was a suite of rooms meant for the particular use of the queen’s. It was once the room of Marie-Antoinette. Their walls were covered in white satin decorated with embroidered flowers. Some were replaced with wood paneling, so not all the rooms matched as they once had.

He preferred the white satin rather than the gaudy wood walls. No matter how expensive the wood was.

“Look,” Hermione said in hushed tones. Her hand pointed to a wall of the room. “That’s where they say the secret passage between the suites is.”

“A secret passage that joined a married couple’s rooms,” Draco mused. “I wonder what it was used for.”

They lingered at the back of their tour group as the rest of the tourists eagerly followed the guide toward the other royal apartments, just as eager to learn of the king’s rooms within the palace.

A majestic painted staircase rested in the direct path of their journey, coined the Ambassador’s Staircase. It was the only way to enter the king’s apartments. 

Magic suddenly stirred up in his limbs. It was brilliant and warm. It coursed through the tips of his fingers as a numbness. Indescribable. It was bliss.

Draco knew it was Hermione’s. Hers was a strong force, unlike the slippery, watery nature of his.

She watched a woman in front of them. The tall blonde woman cradled a small babe the exact description of a cherub in her arms, shushing the little boy from his discomfort.

“Draco?” She asked suddenly.

Her eyes remained fixed ahead. 

“Yes, love?”

“I meant to ask, I mean, we should have discussed it before but… Do you want children?”

Children. He’d hardly thought on it. 

Until he believed Hermione pregnant with his child, the idea had not touched his mind. He was never in the position to do so. He’d never had a serious girlfriend. The only girlfriend he had was Pansy. And she was not the long-term type of girlfriend. 

His list of conquests were simply that. Sex was one thing. It was good. Natural. A need that he liked fulfilled constant or else the swallowing depression would descend, one that the high of climax chased away. For the moment. 

That was the reason the list was as long as it was; the depression needed chased away often.

But any of those resulting in pregnancy stabbed through his back. A forced marriage, a decided life out of his control, his youth stolen by the needy demand of a family.

“I’ve not considered it,” he answered honestly, although the urge to lie came to mind. It was a hard habit to swallow.

“Not even when you thought I was pregnant?”

“I had thirty minutes to comprehend it, Mione. It still hadn’t set in when you told me you weren’t.”

What a frightening moment.

However, when the line of thought came to his mind, it did not feel like a ton of stone dropped on his shoulders. Hermione. The love of his life as a mother to his children. What a blessing. He’d get to have more of her. Their children would have all the beautiful pieces of their mother rather than the dark, disturbed pieces of their father.

It was the chance to make Malfoy’s unlike any before them. 

The love that filled Hermione’s heart for the weak and broken alluded to the unknown depths of her devotion. Any child she had would be loved tenfold than her precious creatures. Imagine how impressive they would turn out.

Angelic looks from their father, obviously they’d capture everyone’s hearts, devilish smart, too smart for their own good as their mother. They would be privy to two worlds. Magical, beautiful, flexible, and…just everything.

“Our children would be incredible,” he stated with pride.

A bemused smile escaped. “You think?”

“Imagine how powerful they could be. With my looks and money, and your smarts and morals. Malfoy’s could take over the world.”

“Now there’s a thought.” Hermione chuckled. She was finally able to tear her eyes away from the little baby. “You’d really want to be a father?”

He thought of the child in front of them and pictured it within his arms with Hermione’s brown curly hair, puffy pale cheeks, eyes of his own color. What would his heart feel? Would it feel burdensome to have a young being depend upon him for everything, demand his perfection with every breath? 

Sweat gathered at his neck. He could not be responsible for creating another human. He was a mess himself. The first thing about parenting that he knew was how to be the worst.

Draco cleared his throat, ready to take back his previous statement, but a man caught his eye. He had a little girl’s hand in his. She was older, about seven or so. The man held a look on his face as his daughter marveled at the painted ceiling with wide eyes absorbing it all. Her lips moved. The look on the man’s face changed to the definition of joy, the only way that Draco could describe it. The pair laughed together, hugging each other close, as if in love with one another. 

At Draco’s side was the most brilliant woman he knew. If they were to have a child, it’d be Hermione’s ultimate gift to him, one that she could not revoke from his grasp because it would be him and her, together, in one form. Their love concentration into a single person. Proof of their love without doubt.

If they failed miserably and his past eventually wore on her good natured intentions and drove her away, Draco could get one beloved thing to have for all time. 

Yes, he would like to be a father.


	20. Sortez

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for my extended absence. I got out of the funk of writing with summer, but slowly I'm getting back into it. Looking back, this story has changed so much than when I first plotted it out. I'm so proud of how it's changed into a better love story than I ever thought possible. Please share this story with your friends. Give them some Dramione love. :)

### Sortez!

Late afternoon naps were greatly needed after the day they all had. Walking and shopping brought the tourists to their knees. Except Theo and Ernest, who were yet to return from their touring.

Unstoppable those two!

Pansy bought many outfits during her shopping trip. She, also, with the grace of a hostess, assisted Susan in choosing attire appropriate for teaching in China. They paraded their purchases with pride. Well, Pansy’s pride. 

Susan took to explaining how comfortable they were with a giant blush on her face when Pansy declared her the most eligible witch sure to find a lonely Chinese prince to dote upon her every desire.

Draco and Hermione passed out on the couch, snuggled together under an afghan. Walking the Palace of Versailles was no easy feat. The grounds were enormous. They’d cheated halfway through and taken a few potions to get them through without collapsing completely.

The other two witches were asleep in their own ways: Pansy, curled in a ball atop a rocking chair, somehow comfortable, and Susan stretched out in front of a sunny window, like a cat, after scarfing down an entire line of shortbread biscuits. 

Things were still silent when Hermione awoke. She was drenched with sweat under a blanket and Draco’s suffocating hold. As quick as possible, she eased her way out of the cuddle, careful not to disturb him and awaken the dragon, before she retreated to their loo to again obsess.

Obsess. Obsess. Obsess. It was what she did best.

Her feet paced in front of the toilet in a worried path worn by her trainers. There were no fingernails left to bite away. All the stray strands of her blouse were torn and picked away.

She was late. Two weeks late.

Hermione chewed her fingers as she checked once more. Nope. Nothing. She was still late.

Godric. Godric. Merlin, gracious Godric, what was she going to do?

Her parents, when they’d find out, would be irate. Sex before marriage was greatly condemned. Just to imagine telling them broke her out in violent sweat. It only took a minute of imaging the look on their faces when they found out to turn her palms to fountains. She raked them down her jeans.

Pregnancy with the Weasley’s would be easy to announce. Harry would be thrilled. The entire world would cheer her on for repopulating the magical community so soon after a horrid war. 

Always the perfect image of what all a muggleborn witch should be.

But the ignorance of her muggle parents would only bring on shame. They didn’t understand. They’d think it too early, not thought through. She knew her father would lecture her on the shame it brought to their family to have a teenage daughter in a serious commitment so soon in her life. They might go so far as to force her to come home. 

Then if that happened, Draco would lose his shit and her entire world would be in disarray again. After all the work she’d invested in getting stable, gone with one little sperm joined egg cell. 

If only she’d been more careful! 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you. Did you know they have room service in this building?” Pansy fluttered within the loo, her skirts swished as she walked. “Had I known, I’d have ordered tea. I’m famished.”

Hermione clamped down on her finger a bit too hard. Red seeped from the flesh.

“Ah, bloody hell.”

It raised attention from Pansy’s manicure. She glanced at the witch and frowned.

“What are we panicking about?” A slender, lengthy hand reached out. It waited for Hermione to place her wound against the palm. Pansy muttered the spell and joined the wound up as best as she could so that blood no longer leaked out. The pain was still there. A throb in Hermione’s hand as it trembled against her thigh. “Out with it. No secrets amongst friends, isn’t that what you said?”

“Honestly, this is something else entirely.”

She started pulling at her curls. They started as beautiful smooth waves, turned frazzled in a manner of minutes. Pansy watched with a curled lip. It twitched as Hermione shook out the spell further doubling the volume of her head until it stood on end, on its own, a giant being of its own.

Pansy combed her fingers through her precious sleek hair. “How so?”

“Because, well, because it just is,” Hermione rambled. “It isn’t some childish vampire slayer thing, which I’d still like to hear about by the way.”

She leaned against the sink, crossed her arms and bit down on her bottom lip. 

It did not bother the other witch whom was all too content in chaos. She waved her hand in dismissal.

“Draco was bothered by a murder of a muggle boy that was so _obviously_ a vampire frenzy. He decided he wanted to hunt the creature down. He just dragged Theo and I along for company,” she explained with a roll of her eyes. “It was not one of his better moments. A lapse of judgement. One that Lucius was not kind in correcting.”

That calmed Hermione’s nerves a bit. “Draco wanted to avenge a muggle boy?”

“Yeah. It was ridiculous since he thought a Quidditch helmet and a vest of dragon scales would protect him from a full-grown vampire. But when he was young, he wanted to be a powerful Auror. He wanted to be known for his skill with spell, needed for his special skills. As a specialist when all other options run out. He thought a vampire was a good place to start.”

“He never told me.”

Pansy became exasperated. “I told him you wouldn’t mind. You might even like it, being muggleborn and all. But no. He just hated the idea. Threw his royal fit over it. I don’t know what he thought would happen once you found out.”

“He’s touchy.”

“You’ve no idea.”

“Is he always so easily upset?”

Perhaps her pregnancy wouldn’t be as life shattering as she thought. Her guts, however, thudded to her knees when she saw Pansy nod frantically.

“Salazar is the wizard so sensitive!” She ran her finger down the front of her shimmery blouse. “If he didn’t expect it to happen, he wasn’t prepared. He hates going off on pure emotion. Draco is a thinker. He thinks of things over and over, expecting, plotting, ensuring that his response is well rehearsed. It is how he responds with such, detachment. Lest his interior be exposed, that vulnerability that he hates to show. All Malfoy’s detest their humanity rather than godship, but none so much as Draco does. He must seem perfect all the day long. It is the only way he knew how to be strong. ”

“I thought all Slytherins were like that.”

Pansy snorted. “Do I come across that way? Does Theo?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Neither did I.” Pansy chuckled. “But Slytherins are a varied crowd. Some are quiet thinkers. Some are loud, unashamed. We want what we want, and we are willing to do what is needed to achieve that. How we get there is pure choice.”

The girls walked aimlessly out onto the balcony as they spoke. Warm summer air greeted them as they walked through the cool wall of the building toward the open expanse of the day as it blared against the tropical balcony. 

Hermione swirled her curls into a messy bun. It kept the heat off her neck. Between the heat and the stress, she was a puddle of perspiration. 

“And if I am to surprise Draco…say, with something serious.”

“Don’t beat around the bush, Granger.”

It was a wily comment. The plucked-thin eyebrow challenged Hermione in a very Slytherin way, all too subtle but blunt at the same time.

“I’m not for sure…”

“Great holy pure-bloody Salazar. Are you serious?”

Hermione bit her lip. “Like I said, I am uncertain.”

“Well there’s a way to clear it up right now.” Pansy twirled her wand between two fingers. “I know the spell. Performed it plenty of times.”

That was news. “Really?”

“Let’s just say, I know a girl who has needed this spell performed, a few times.”

For once, Pansy did not elaborate. She kept the name of the girl mum, so did Hermione’s curiosity. It was not the point of the moment. There was a rather serious situation at hand, one that required practiced hands.

“Swear that you won’t breathe a word of this. Not even to Theo.”

“I swear.”

She bit her lip. Could she trust a gossip not to gossip with her best friend? A Slytherin?

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Would you like an Unbreakable Vow?”

“No. No, course not.” Her palms rubbed down her thighs once more, soaked through. “Let’s get on with it. I can’t stand the suspense.”

Pansy nodded. She drew her chestnut brown wand wrapped in two tangled vines of carved wood. When it came close, Hermione’s breath caught. The girls shared a moment of eye contact. It was filled with question on one side, as if asking to proceed. 

Voice failed her. She dipped her chin low in agreement and Pansy pressed the edge of the wand against Hermione’s body.

The recited words came hushed. 

“Revealo praegnatio.”

The spell washed over her body, touching bit by bit, starting at the top of her head, coursing through her muscles and veins, before it stopped at the tips of her toes. Hermione felt nothing. Unchanged.

“How do we know if it’s worked?” She asked. Unfamiliar with the spell herself, she truly did not know how to read the results.

The double-sized eyes of Pansy attracted her attention. She lowered the waistband of her jeans over so slight to reveal a glowing dot atop her skin just over her lower abdomen. “That.”

Hermione gulped. “Is that…”

“That is.”

“Merlin.”

“Yeah.”

Both witches were speechless. 

A golden ball was a positive result. She was with child.

Oh Merlin! Hermione’s fingertips trembled against her flesh as she pushed against the flickering ball of light.

Part of her knew that it was bound to happen; the book of Bavmorda told her so. The entire source of their connection was to join the magics, by the means of children. She should have known. How could she have been so idiotic to believe it wouldn’t happen to them?

A clatter in the flat behind Pansy brought the girls back to reality. They looked up and saw a head of light blonde hair through the glass doors of the loo. It turned one way then another before it poked out the open door. 

“Pans? Hermione?”

Oh Godric.

“Quick, the spell,” she snipped. “Stop it.”

“Give me a sec,” Pansy whispered back.

They fumbled around like a pair of bumbling monkeys until Hermione was completely covered and assured tenfold that there was no sign of the spell. It took them up to the second that Draco walked through the fern leaves for both to control their breath.

“Up to trouble?” Draco snickered.

“What might make you think that?” Pansy asked swiftly.

Almost too swiftly. 

Hermione felt her nerves grow. She struggled to control the force of her magic around Draco’s. If it twitched once, he’d know that she was lying. 

She did not want to hide it from him. That was the last thing she wanted. A pregnancy was a brilliant, wonderful thing. However, she needed time. Time to process what the hell was happening. 

She just needed time. 

Draco helped himself to a chair, flicking a wrapper of chewing gum into purple flame. “I’ve not known a time where you weren’t up to trouble in some form or another. What I take interest in is what exactly you’re convincing Hermione of. Care to explain that?”

“See. That is what the difference between wizards and witches.” Pansy glanced at Hermione with a satisfied smirk. “We know already know what you’re plotting.”

He quirked his brow. “Is that so?”

“Quite.”

“Hm.” He rubbed his chin with a delighted grin, a flashback to his younger, more devious days. “I’d ask you to venture a guess, but I’m frightened of what might come out your mouth.”

“A worthy concern.” Pansy agreed.

He nodded. “You’d have Hermione convinced I’m worse than the Dark Lord by the end of it, wouldn’t you?”

Hermione felt sad. His thoughts always turned to such self-depreciation. 

Draco was not close to Voldemort in much of any way. He hadn’t had the will to kill Dumbledore, he hadn’t wanted Bellatrix to know it was Harry at Malfoy Manor, he hadn’t taken advantage of her in all their time together, he hadn’t aspired to genocide. He was a good man. 

“Nothing could do that, Draco.”

“Don’t be sure of that, dear. I’ve got loads of stories about this one here,” Pans said with a snide smile. “Shall we have some pleasant reminiscing?”

“Pansy, stop.” Hermione growled. “If you put him in a mood, you’ll be the one that deals with it.”

The witch crossed her arms in a huff. “Fine. That means you’ll have to search all of Paris looking for that no-good boyfriend of mine.”

“They still aren’t back yet?” Draco sat up in his chair.

Pansy shook her head. “Theo’s abducted him. The wizard won’t let me have a thing to myself. I swear. He’s stolen Ernie so that he might try to soil that sweet Hufflepuff in him. I just hate the thought of it. I’ll kill Theo if he’s succeeded.”

“Nothing can take the Hufflepuff out of Ernie,” Hermione reassured her, patted her knee. “He’s a tried and true Huffle, proud of himself. There is nothing Theo can say to ruin Ernie in any capacity.”

Draco sniffed. “Don’t underestimate Theo. His powers of corruption are legendary.”

Legendary?

Hermione didn’t even consider Theo Nott during Hogwarts. He was not nearly as popular at Draco Malfoy.

How did he achieve a legendary status? Draco never liked to give credit to others being better than him in any area, even corruption. She questioned what it could possibly mean. Had Theo ruined someone? Had he been a puppet master to a scandal that she hadn’t realized or learned about? Admittedly she’d been wrapped within the world of Gryffindor and Harry’s business that other things around the castle that didn’t apply were overlooked. She had studies to attend. 

“Should we go searching?” Hermione bit her bottom lip. “They might have gotten into trouble.”

“This is Paris, Hermione. We have no basis to even start,” Draco stated.

Her knuckles cracked when she clamped them shut. “We have to try. What if they’re hurt? Or arrested in jail?”

“Let the wizards rot!” 

Pansy threw down her sun hat in a fit of frustration to draw back to the Pansy-center-of-attention whirlwind. She was not so different. It was the way the Slytherin witch operated from the dawn of her life bound to continue on that way for the rest of it.

Hermione tried to comfort Pansy the best she could, but the witch had none of it.

“No. No! I’ll not have my plans disrupted by those two. We have things to do. An itinerary to stick to. If they miss it, well, it’s their own fault.”

There was a glimmer of emotion, sadness, in Pansy’s expression. She hid it closely, only a bit slipped through and retracted beneath her scales again. Hermione kept her tone even. She wanted no reason to cause Pansy’s defense mechanisms.

“No one wants to ruin the itinerary.”

“Yes huh!” The witch shrieked. “Theo does! He’s done this on purpose. He never wants me to do anything on my own. It’s all his plan to drive Ernie away from me.”

The noise must have awakened their other friend because not much later, Susan Bones found her way to the balcony with open arms ready to embrace the frustration out of Pansy.

“Oh, dear. Just hug it out. That makes it better,” Susan said in soft, calm tones. “What’s worth all this fussing?”

Susan ran her hand down the length of Pansy’s long black hair as if she was petting a cat while Pansy recited the words of her fit from moments before. Draco and Hermione held their breath; Pansy loved her hair more than life itself. She never allowed anyone to touch it.

But, to the shock of everyone, she leaned into the embrace and allowed to continuous stroking of her hair.

The two watched in awe as Pansy allowed Susan to hold her close and crease her straight hair. Draco watched with a distinct interest which Hermione recognized as his sign of surprise, something he didn’t expect. 

The subtle way Draco reacted to something as simple as touching Pansy’s hair, she wondered what her news would do to him. It rolled her stomach. She felt overcome with guilt. Guilt like the urge to vomit.

Just the brush of Draco’s arm against her bare skin cooled the rolling tension. Hermione sighed, leaned against his side and waited. The scent of his breath, the way his body welcomed her touch without permission or knowledge they’d meet, his magic’s caress.

He was her place. Her home.

Now, she had a little piece of him in her belly. It fluttered her heart like a hummingbird’s wings to think of a little baby boy in the image of Draco nuzzled in her insides. A physical manifestation of their love lived inside her, thrived off her, needed her. It brought tears to her eyes. 

She was just the same to Draco as their child was to her.

“Draco I have something to- .”

“Hermione!” Pansy said suddenly. Her head shot up from Susan’s shoulder like the flick of a wand.

Draco quirked a brow. “There she is. The ever-changing tide of Pansy Parkinson.”

Hermione opened her mouth again, ready to admit the secret she held to her love, when a few long fingernails dug into her wrist and pulled her away.

“I need to talk to you,” Pansy declared.

Susan and Draco were left in a baffled wake. Susan shrugged her shoulders, said something and got Draco to nod in agreement.

Pansy pulled a helpless pregnant witch through their rented flat into one of the other suites, warded the room behind them and seemingly grew twice her size in front of Hermione. Her ears poked through the strands of her hair. Nostrils flared wide.

“Are you mental?” Pansy exclaimed in a firm voice. “That’s how you planned to tell him?”

“It isn’t rig- .”

“Don’t you dare pull the upstanding moral card on me, Hermione Granger. You’re going to frighten him into a fit if that’s how you plan to do it.” Pansy pointed her finger in a scolding manner.

It was humiliating to have Pansy Parkinson chastise her.

Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Just how would you do it then?”

“I wouldn’t tell him in front of people! Not me, especially,” she replied flatly. “He’d feel too exposed. He’d explode.”

“Oh really?” She crossed her arms. 

Pansy narrowed her eyes. “I’m the resident expert of Draco Malfoy. I’ve spent a lifetime learning his ways. Believe me. I know what I’m doing.”

That was true. Pansy and Draco were childhood friends. They knew each other like the back of their hand.

There was a twinge of Gryffindor jealousy in her neck. 

Draco was her boyfriend. The love of her life. Hermione needed to be the one who knew him best. 

“So I should just listen to you? Your opinion on my relationship, to your ex-boyfriend.”

The topic of Pansy’s previous relationship with Draco had been avoided for obvious reasons. One of them being lost in the past of childhood. They were not serious. Still, Hermione knew they kissed. Much more? She didn’t want to know that, but the pit in her stomach made her feel certain they had. 

They shared an experience with Draco more than kissing, and it made Hermione irate. 

Sex! They’d probably had sex together, too. 

Hermione’s blood turned cold. The spell. The pregnancy testing spell. Pansy knew the spell. She practiced on a witch that needed it a lot. Was it herself? Draco’s libido was large enough to where the idea of falling pregnant multiple times made sense during their relationship, or whatever it was. Could they still be continuing on?

Oh Godric. Were they on this holiday together to continue underneath Hermione’s nose?

“I know what I’m talking about,” Pansy said. “I just don’t want the git to ruin something because of his damnable issue with vulnerability.”

The git.

The git was right!

Hermione boiled as Pansy spoke at the witch often did. She kept her mouth clamped shut to the point of physical pain.

“The best way is a letter. Give him a letter that he can read in private,” Pansy advised.

“Is that you did?” Hermione snipped, just unable to help herself.

Pansy shrugged a bit, perhaps a bit uninterested and confused, with rolled eyes. “For what?”

That was the last straw. 

“Oh for the love of... Drop the act! You guys used to date. I know what _that_ means with Draco.” Her thoughts scrambled frantically. “Admit it, you’re still in love with him.”

The air sucked out of the room in an instant.

“What?” Pansy shrieked.

Literally shrieked. Like the giant eagle claw-looking monster she was.

Hermione shook with frustration. She just felt her control leave. The hold on her magic ceased. It surged with anger, and betrayal, hurt and every emotion. Jealousy, in the highest concentrated form.

“Have you two been carrying on since Hogwarts?” Hermione accused.

Pansy’s jaw actually dropped to her collarbone. “No! Draco’s in love with you. And I love Ernie. _Ernie_. What the devil is going on?”

She reached out for her friend’s hand, but Hermione ripped it away in haste. A single finger pointed at Pansy; eyes narrowed with absolute anger. An unstoppable, unforgiveable albeit delightful yearning to curse Pans surfaced within floods of jealousy. 

An overwhelming wave of emotion couldn’t be stopped. It ripped through her. It ate away that very little restraint Hermione had. It surged. She felt the magic power out from her body toward everything.

She’d lost sight of thoughts of what she was doing until it was too late.

It called out for her beloved to aid her. She felt the rush of his magic join hers.

There was a pounding at the door. Draco had found them. His magical power rivaled hers.

“Pansy! Pansy!” He screamed. “Let her go right now.”

Hermione ignored him. 

“You slept with Draco, though, didn’t you?”

A small frown captured Pansy’s lips. “That’s not fair.”

It felt a kick in the stomach when she heard that they’d been intimate together. She felt suddenly overcome with disgust.

“Oh. I can’t believe it.”

“That was years ago, Mione,” Pansy said. “Please. I’d never do anything with him now. We’re friends. Always meant to be friends.”

“Friends! With a former lover.”

All the while, shots were fired against the suite door. The wards held. But for how long? Draco knew Hermione’s emotions were high, and it brought another worldly power to him. It was powerful. She felt overcome with confusion.

Draco’s devotion was so endearing it made her question her anger.

“I have no interest in the wizard!” Pansy cried. “We’re friends, Hermione. Please, believe me. I’d never do something to risk it. Especially not for Draco, who is clearly in love with you!”

“We’re not friends, Pansy! Not anymore.”

Done. All she wanted was to be away from the witch who slept with Draco and done with their interactions. Forever.

The wards dropped. The doors were thrown open, nearly ripped the wood off the hinges.

“Please, don’t!” Pansy cried.

A genuine look of hurt crossed the witch’s face. It only had a second of life before that suffocating black shadow of nightmares, that dark prince of Slytherin.

“What’s going on here?” Draco’s voice boomed. He reached out for Hermione, but she avoided his touch.

“Nothing,” Hermione replied instantly.

His head snapped to the other. He growled. “Pansy?”

A twisted emotion contorted her face as she settled into the suit of slippery Slytherin, crossed her arms and bore her fangs right into the solid ground. “I have nothing to say.”

That was a comfort. In that instant, Pansy might have spilled Hermione’s secret to cast the blame elsewhere. Instead, she stayed silent on the confrontation. It made the situation of jealousy even more perplexing. For once, Pansy was being a good friend. For once! But, still. She slept with her boyfriend. How could they possibly carry on?

Hermione exited the suite, brushing past a wide-eyed Susan, into her own suite and warded the door behind her so that she might remain alone. If just for a while.

She heard, “what in the bloody hell is going on,” once or twice from Draco. Outside her door.

In her rage, she went to the desk to compose yet another letter to Ginny. She had drafted a pleasant reassuring one the morning before. The Gryffindor witch was bound to be up the wall when she responded since it’d been four whole days since Hermione had contacted her. Life was hectic. Now, it was furious. Hermione scratched the pointy tip of her quill against a long bit of parchment, pouring all her frustrations, anger, horror and mortification into words meant for the eyes of her best friend.

Ginny knew what to do. She helped. Her mind gave Hermione insight to things that she wasn’t able to access, somehow. It was her magic power.

A power that Hermione needed desperately. 

_Ginny.  
Now I find myself in need of your knowledge more than ever. Your wisdom in the arts of sex, friends, and relationships is more varied than my own, and I cannot seem to shake the unbridled rage at the thought of Pansy and Draco’s history together. Certain events have revealed themselves to me. I’m under the impression their sexual affair was one even more thrilling than ours. It is making me hate her. Just the image alone of Draco in love with her, I cannot express it. I want it to go away. I want her away. _

The more and more she wrote out her emotions, the calmer she felt. It drained out of her. The liquid ink of her situation, albeit one tiny admission of her wellbeing, held all her rage for one day. She let it dry before she summoned an owl and sent it away.

By the time she’d recovered enough to drop the ward around the suite, Draco was an unstoppable force. He flew through the doors with a cold glare. It directed at Hermione, the first time she was under his angry attention in a while.

“Hello. Remember me? Your _boyfriend_?”

She sighed. “Yes, hello Draco.”

“Ah. So you do remember. Anything else you care to remember? Like what the bloody hell happened with Pansy?” He pointed out toward the hall. “Did she threaten you?”

“No.”

“Did she hurt you?”

“For goodness sake, Draco. No.”

He became incredibly tense. “You must wish to see me driven to the very abysmal edge of sanity!”

“I love you,” she said suddenly. 

She forced out her bottom lip as puffy as possible. Her eyelashes fluttered open, thick with dense brown hairs in that whimsical allure that he could not resist.

It was the last attempt she had to keep things quiet until she was ready.

Draco snarled. “Don’t.”

“I love you,” she repeated. “so much.”

It physically pained him to endure that treatment from her. 

She forced a tidal wave of love for him through their magic and pushed it at him with all her might. It brought the wizard to his very knees, hands latched on her thighs, pulled her down to his lap. His lips kissed their way all over her face. The length of his fingers kneaded at her flesh like a hungry kitten in need for sustenance. He needed sustenance, too. 

“Don’t.” He croaked through his licks at the base of her neck. “Don’t do this to me.”

Hermione gave it her all in a moan. She let the tickles of their connection overtake her body, curl her toes and overload every nerve that could possibly feel the wicked delight that enticed her to Draco in the first place. Nails made red lines down his back. Teeth sank into her collarbone. 

Draco knotted his hand within her curls and pulled it taut with a sharp pain to her scalp. 

“I’m still so angry,” he told her.

“I know,” she hummed. 

A thrill centered around the pleasure bud that begged for touch. It burned. Fire consumed her like an addict in search of a fix.

Forever. She wanted that cock buried inside her forever. It was hers.

All hers. 

She wanted him to remember that no matter whom he’d been with, she was queen. The end. The best he’d ever have. 

It was uncommon for her to feel so superior, in a moment that often required realism and understanding, however those were lost with the utter Slytherin-like selfishness that engrossed her any time a single inkling of Pansy and Draco’s past came. Hermione fed on the emotion. It pushed her toward bounds that she’d never reached. 

Passion clouded her eyes. She thrust her body flush against his. 

“Tell me where you went,” he demanded.

“No,” she growled back.

Wet lips clamped at a piece of exposed chest which made her breath catch in that glorious, eye-closed-need-more way. Hot air filled her lungs. The scent of her sex and his perfumed their bodies as they violently clashed with their libidos, pent-up frustrations, the pulling, pushing, grinding, rough way they collided.

She whimpered when he slapped her ass. He snarled like a rabid dog when she squeezed his.

As hot pain thrust up within her, he repeated with each rough motion, “Only. Mine. Only. Only. Only.”

His weight against her chest was that familiar ecstasy, but she wished for more. She wanted to be monumental in his mind, that high peak in his experience that even left him reminiscing as an old man about shagging her.

Hermione shifted herself, pushed him off, and mounted him in one swift swipe. Her fists pushed against his chest to keep him flat against the floor. Hard. She focused all her energy, the might of their conjoined magic, to encompass them in a caress against their sensitive spots as she ground into him. It rubbed against his buttocks as she focused all her bodily power against his throbbing cock. It pulled at her nipples. Waves and waves of sensation fell down their spines, sucked at their necks, pulled on their lips as they shagged until Hermione legs were jelly.

She fell to the carpet in utter exhaustion.

Draco heaved in breaths, still on the come down from his highest climax of orgasm. 

“Still angry?” She breathed, through large heaves.

There was a moment where Draco laid still, silent. It did not unsettle her. She knew his magic well enough to know that his energy was calmed by their romp.

“There are…many emotions to sort through,” he admitted.

“Ones that require us to skip supper?”

“No,” he said suddenly. “No. We’re still on for the restaurant.”

“They aren’t able to move our reservation at all?”

He touched her hair. It gently combed through curls he’d just near tugged out her head. The tingles were intense, a bit painful but not too much so. She leaned into his touch. 

The light glinted in through the clear glass windows, ignited the blonde hairs against the floor where they laid, as if a halo of angelic light encompassed his skull in golden glow. A gleam came across her eye as she stared. Water rose up inside her chest. Whether it was sadness or love, she did not know. 

“I would very much like to make the reservations tonight,” he said calmly.

What could she possibly say to an angel in disguise as he was?

She kissed his wrist, felt the pulse below her lips and smiled. “Yes, love.”

They laid a tangled heap in that late afternoon light, silent and dazzled by the creature within their arm, still certain they would never figure the other one out no matter how long they tried, warmed by the sun until their wands warned them up an approaching deadline.

Draco’s slapped Hermione’s bare thigh. “I call the shower.”

She hissed at the sting of his palm. “You require more time than I, you know. I might lay here for thirty more minutes before I have to start.”

“Antécédents is a formal restaurant, Mione. They have a dress code.”

That tone. She rolled her eyes. As if she was ignorant of social customs, no matter how little she partook in them. One night of beautiful dress was within her repertoire. 

“So no trackie bottoms and trainers?” She snorted.

She prided herself on the surprised face upon her love’s face when it poked back from the loo. 

Hermione chuckled. “Oh bugger off, you. Get your preening done.”

There was no point in checking within her luggage for a dress. She knew damn well that it was Draco whom brought a dress he liked best, ten times worth what she was willing to pay for clothes.

She rummaged through his insanely neat set of trunks, arranged by color and style, rolled and folded and tucked with clean lines. Even her belongings were not so neat. There was a thought to be upset by the way she’d messed up his space, but it was already done. 

Sure enough, there was a golden shimmery dress meant for her in his luggage. It rose above her knees higher than her school skirts. Higher than a stripper’s skirts, it felt like. 

“Oh, good lord.”

It was tossed back to where it came from. A dress that short was not formal by any means, no matter the price tag that she already knew not to check. It’d just make her need to lecture him upon frivolous spending.

More than once she had to give Harry such a talk. Somebody had to. A child given access to family vaults, unchecked and unregulated, was just madness. A fault of the Ministry, for sure.

It was strange to believe that her own child would be given wild access to money. Her parents were far from poor as Muggles. Dentists made a fair living. But Malfoy vaults ran so deep, so plentiful, there was no bottom to their riches. That amount of wealthy was not fathomable.

No child of hers would be a spender as their father was. The amount he spent on suits alone was enough for an entire family to live on for a year! No, they would be raised with a mindful existence. She would ensure that.

Of course, look at how careful Draco was with himself. He carried a strength within him that was near powerful as her own. It was not morals that upheld it, but the need for protection. He wielded it without fail. That was a value she wished for: a skin so thick that no word may enter.

Hermione returned to her own belongings to ready for supper as Draco did the same within the loo. 

He’d exited to remind her to dress as he always did when he was surprised by a fully clothed, made up Hermione. She wore a modest length evergreen silk dress, embroidered with black knit threads along the edges, cut deep through the chest, with off the shoulder straps. It cradled her slender curves just enough. She opted for a pair of black velvet booties rather than a pair of heels. 

Knotted curls were smoothed to soft waves, touching her exposed shoulders delicately. A hair pin of a dragon with shimmering green eyes shined amongst the brown of her hair. 

“Wow.” It was the only word he could find. “Wow,” he echoed softly.

She smirked. “What was that, dear?”

A buttoned-up version of Draco reappeared, rigid and collected. His skin stretched taut as he cooled his features to detachment.

He walked closer, nonchalant as he tried, she felt the change of his magic. It was excitement. A thrill coursed through their magic, entangling into tight knots. They were joined by the echoing emotion that filled their bellies with primal need.

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat, struggling to remove his eyes from her. He touched his chin lightly. “I don’t recognize the dress. Is it yours? I, I like it.”

It was green, the color of his existence. Of course he liked it.

“It’s just something I picked up,” she replied innocently. The purpose of the dress, of which she purchased it for, was that exact reaction. That unbridled growl at the back of his throat that made it difficult for him to speak. Her insides went slick. “I thought I might wear it to a Ministry party when we get back.”

“Like hell,” he snarled.

Those hungry eyes ravaged her relentlessly, stepping closer, one step then another, purposeful with each deliberate motion to trap her in his clasp. The back of her knees were against the mattress. There was nowhere to run.

Still, the game would not end. Not yet.

She had to drive him mad all night long first. 

Let him think of Pansy tonight, let him try it. Over her dead body would his thoughts turn away from her to any witch, not tonight.

Hermione squished her thighs together. Though they had shagged like crazy only hours before, there was a deeper burn that made her want more. More of him. More of it. More hair pulling, ass slapping, screaming good sex. 

“So, you don’t like it?” She asked, fingering the edge of the skirt, raising it higher on her thighs. “I thought it would make you happy.”

“It does. Oh, it does.” His arms kept her in place. They prevented her escape from the examining gaze. “Just the idea of other wizards enjoying the same view as I am does not. All those antiques at the Ministry jump at witches like you. I’d prefer not to fight the Minister, what with my death-eater status and all.”

“Ex- death eater,” she corrected sharply. “And Kingsley is a happily married wizard.”

“As are many until they see you.”

“Good thing I’ll have myself a date then, or else an antique wizard might just take me home.”

Draco quirked his brow. “Alright now. We are approaching a line that will make it extremely difficult to make our reservations. Let us leave this for another time when we’ve got more time for…discussion.”

She chuckled and swatted him gently before he gave a possessive kiss atop her forehead. “My only.”

He offered out his arm. Hers slipped between the folds of his expensive fabric soft and smooth. Neither could dim the smile on their lips.

“I love you,” she said once again. “I know I said it before, but I mean it. You’ve given me so much more than I ever thought possible.”

He smirked. “Just you wait. You haven’t tasted the amounts that I can give.”

The lovebirds bid goodbye to their fellow travelers, one who was still worried over the absence of her boyfriend and best friend. The girls decided to abandon their nightly plans to wait for the two boys instead, though it was bound to make Pansy even more furious. 

Hermione bet by the end of the night things would be upturned from all the chaos of the trip. It was a sure thing that Theo and Pansy would have it out, Pansy would be angry at Ernie for being so gullible, Ernie would be angry that she’d treat him like a child, and Draco would be angry at everyone for making him deal with such drama on a holiday that was meant to relax them.

Life was only going to be more dramatic once reality set in. 

Much familial and societal upheaval to take part in. It was enough to make any strong man cower.

They’d just about left before Draco paused at the door. He turned to his date.

“One minute, love.” He gave her cheek a peck.

She watched from the door as Draco approached Pansy, speaking quietly between the two of them. Pansy looked frantic. Her eyebrows were high on her forehead, hands flapping as Draco spoke. She shook her head more than once. 

A stomach roll of tension coursed through her; Draco had touched Pansy’s arm gently. It was no more than a second long, but Hermione saw. She saw the tenderness in his eyes as he mumbled into Pansy’s ear whatever torrid nothings they whispered to one another behind her back.

The dirty rotten cheater!

Here she was, dressed in the most enticing dress she’d ever wear in public, pregnant with his child, and he was touching another witch. In front of her!

Her magic swirled all over again. That anger filled her lungs with fire. Literal sparks zapped between her toes the longer she watched the love of her life with her friend.

It made it difficult to focus on much of anything else. All she saw was the two of them, together. Together. Kissing. Hugging. Shagging in all the same places they did.

Draco talked on the way to the restaurant, words that she hadn’t listened to. Her thoughts were dominant. The betrayal she felt was foremost. It was anger. Frustration. She couldn’t think of anything else.  
The little run-down restaurant on the edge of the city was dimly lit. They were seated in a dark corner. It was a romantic place filled with couples, nose to nose in their small booths blocked from view. A lover’s lane of restaurants. It was like the tea shop in Hogsmeade, only far more fashionable.

A young waiter brought them a beautiful bottle. The faded label told it’s age. 

The yellow liquid bubbled against crystal flutes between their fingers. Draco looked at her expectantly. She placed it down quickly, still coming to grips with the fact that she was no longer allowed to partake in alcohol. 

Draco frowned. “Do you not want to try it?”

“No.”

“Oh.” He sipped once and placed his flute beside hers. “As I was saying, this restaurant used to be a peak establishment. My grandparents came here often. As it so happens, my grandfather proposed in this very booth.”

Had she not been filled with self-induced rage, Hermione might have found it quite touching.

“I’m sure Pansy would love this place,” she commented offhand, ready to catch him in an admission.

To her disappointment, the comment did not faze him. He shrugged his shoulders, said “perhaps” and continued on.

“Hermione, there is something I’ve been wanting to tell you. But first I feel I must explain myself,” Draco said.

She gripped the seat to keep from trembling. From anger, or from despair, it was impossible to tell which it was since both plagued her.

A sudden urge to vomit burned the back of her throat. That bitter bile, sour and awful, coated her taste buds. How tasty that champagne looked now. She wanted a tasty sip of the bubbling luxury before Draco ripped her heart out her chest for all to see. 

The best man she’d ever known, the one who made her feel herself again, the one to ruin her completely. 

What an ironic twist upon her life.

Once so filled with high hopes of the future, now pregnant and alone. Sure to be the laughing stock of all London, if not the entire country.

What a stupid witch she was.

Hermione swallowed back her soft sob. “Go on.”

Let it be said. That was all she could do. The truth was home, and if he loved another, she had to know.

“The Malfoy’s are a historic bloodline, dated back to the times of Merlin himself. We have lived at the height of magical society. Some of the wisest and most successful wizards and witches span from our family tree. And I’m proud. I’m proud to be who I am. My family has mostly shaped who I am, the bad parts as well as good. I may not be just as they were, but I will uphold the traditions that matter.”

She looked at him, glassy eyed. Was this his way of explaining that mudblood wasn’t good enough for him anymore?

“I want you to understand that I am not just your Draco, this new Draco you see. I am Draco Malfoy. Whereas I am much more than that, my family remains the same. My name, is that apart of me as much as magic is.” His hand slipped through their flutes and curled her fingers within his.

The breakup touch. The pity hand hold. 

She stowed away her tears, holding them back the best she could. 

That was the point of this entire reservation wasn’t it? She glanced around. Couples littered the entire place. Muggles. Any kind of outburst would attract attention, the last kind of thing she wanted. He knew how much she hated being a spectacle. It was his choice, then. The entire date fabricated to break up with ease, without guilt weighing on his conscious.

She kept her right hand cradled against her abdomen, not yet swollen with his child, but it’s home nonetheless. One bit that she’d get to keep.

Again, she reminded herself to look at Draco. He was talking. Listening to it took an energy she didn’t believe she had. The crowd of the restaurant, the hushed tones of love, stolen kisses and coos of excitement over dishes. It was supposed to be her there happily with a man she loved. The man of her dreams. The way she pictured her future with Draco was more than anything she ever wanted, other than world peace, equality. 

Draco looked at her in the same way he always did. Had she been so blind to believe he was in love with her? 

“My intentions of tonight weren’t as subtle as I wished them to be. A mind as yours works quicker than most, and I’ve been out of mine since we met,” he said. His thumb caressed her hand gently. A whisper of a touch. “This place is very special to my family. I’ve always pictured proposing at this restaurant just like my grandfather, and my father. A line of men before me. Disgusting in more ways than can be said aloud, but I am a Malfoy man, better and more in love than I ever thought possible. Hermione, it is surreal that we are here. The answer of why, you must already know.”

He audibly swallowed. She did the same, as a reflex. 

His nerves were palpable. Her magic sensed the coursing frantic nature of it as he sat, still clutching her hand, eyeing her with intensity. 

“I wish you two all the best,” Hermione answered very softly, though she didn’t mean a word of it.

He blinked. “What?”

“That’s what this whole evening has been about, hasn’t it? You and Pansy.” Her voice was barely audible above the crowd. She felt her courage flee. There was no malice she could wish upon him. She loved Draco too much to hate him and cherished his happiness too much to put a stop to it. After all he’d been through, he deserved a bit of joy out of his life, no matter how he sought to find it. “I understand, Draco. I do.”

He went rigid. His back sat straight in his seat. A face set in stone.

“What are you talking about? Me and Pansy.” His hand let go of hers. Instead it tapped against the table with force. “You think Pansy and I…”

A banging thud and a shatter of glass came from behind them. The entire restaurant flooded with noise. There was a distinctive shrill calling throughout the place. Though the other patrons were disturbed and rose to their feet in panic, Hermione and Draco stayed where they were, exhaling in frustration at the interruption.

It was the last witch either wanted to see, of course, which is how she knew how to time her appearance.

Hermione glanced behind her shoulder at the aisle. Sure enough there was Pansy. Her face was tear-streaked as she marched through the restaurant, arm stretched behind her as a leash to the man she dragged. 

“There’s only one of them,” Hermione said to Draco.

Pansy’s antics appeared just as soon as she was within range of their table.

“Look! Look at him! The bloody tosspot has lost my boyfriend in Paris and can’t remember where!”

It was Theo, totally sloshed, whom she dragged behind her. His body was limp. He was awake, still clutching an awful green bottle.

Hermione kneeled down to his side. His warm flesh prickled that urge to vomit at the back of her throat as she prodded his throat for a pulse. Finally, she felt his life source. It was thready. 

“He needs a potion.” She removed her fingers quickly.

“You’ve got one on you, haven’t you?” Draco asked.

“Who bleeding cares about this idiot? Where’s Ernest?” Pansy yelled. She dropped her hold on Theo. His body thudded to the ground.

Draco grabbed hold of Pansy’s arm tightly. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you not to disturb us.”

“I’m sorry but I had no choice!” Pansy exclaimed. “Ernie is gone. Gone. You’ll find him, won’t you? Please Draco. You’ve got to go get him back. I’ll just bet Theo purposefully locked him somewhere. Gave him a potion or something.”

Hermione slipped a potion bottle into Theo’s mouth just as the restaurant manager came around, demanding they be removed from the restaurant. His French was thick and quick. Lucky she knew what he wanted before he ever opened his mouth. That disgusting snarl on his face was obvious.

“Sortez!” The big man said. “Partir. Sortez.”

Draco put his hands up and approached the man. Words flowed off his tongue with easy as he spoke fluent French, beautifully and eloquently, but no less firm as he did English. He calmed the manager down with promises as Hermione revived Theo to a less intoxicated state. 

Sloshed was still the term she’d use, but less so.

She pulled him up, with the help of a lightening spell under the cover of his pullover. He put his hands all over her, trying to steady himself, inadvertently touching her breast. She rolled her eyes.

When Draco glanced back and saw, he came and grabbed Theo away, hoisting the wizard’s weight upon his shoulder. His eyes were furious. Their blue icy glare were not to be trifled with. When he told her to return to the flat with Pansy, she did as she was told. One last kiss on his cheek and she left the restaurant with a heavy heart.

The future of their relationship was a mystery. Would they stay together? Could she forget of Pansy and him? The baby could change his feelings, too. They changed with his moods so swiftly that Peeves was more predictable than his feelings. 

“Are you alright?” Pansy asked softly.

It had been blocks since the restaurant and neither had said a word. She’d been lost in thought that she hadn’t really noticed. It was a quiet night in Paris. The streets were hazy, moonlit, half-empty. The muggle mind in her warned her to be on edge. Paris was a major city, violent as many were. 

She shook her head, letting a few tears fall. “No.”

“It was not my intention to ruin the evening,” the witch said softly. “I just didn’t know what to do. Theo came back without Ernie. I panicked.”

Hermione sighed. “You ruined it years before then.”

She trudged ahead of Pansy, ready to leave the irritating witch behind. Suddenly she realized there were sounds in the roads that echoed their own, only quicker. Three of them. In an instant, her thoughts cleared. Her eyes found Pansy’s. 

The moment their eyes met, they knew. 

They were being followed.


	21. Tennessee Whiskey

### Tennessee Whiskey

The two witches winded through sedimentary streets in an attempt to get back to the safety of the flat, unable to escape their followers and unable to use their magic within the limits of Muggle Paris. The damn country was not kind to those of foreign blood breaking their international magical laws. They were forced in a position to become victims. There was no other option left to them. 

Like hell would they succumb to this.

Hermione struggled to remember the way back. It’d been so long since she was in that part of Paris. Back then her mum and dad knew the way.

Think, Hermione, she commanded. Their lives, quite possibly, depended on it. If she brought back a traumatized and bloodied Pansy back, Draco would be furious at her. Disappointed. Heartbroken. He entrusted his best friend to her, and she had to bring the witch back in one piece. She had to.

She pulled Pansy along, until the deadly horror set in. Somewhere she made a wrong turn. They saw nothing but desolate streets, devoid of people and light.

“Oh, no.” She groaned.

“What do we do now?” Pansy whispered. “Run?”

There was an idea.

Hermione asked quickly, under her breath so they might not be overheard. “Do you run fast?”

“I wear heels every waking moment. I pretty much gave up on running years ago. Do you run?”

She shook her head. “No.”

Physical endurance was not a strong suit of hers. The year on the run left her in a constant state of exhaustion, bruised and bloodied, battered in areas. The cold. It didn’t shake out no matter how hard she ran. Her throat would burn, lungs on fire, smoke out between her lips.

Flashbacks of the war flooded back to her eyes. 

Hogwarts in flames. She remembered the dark of the night split by large orange flames against grey stone walls. Screams of her classmates as they fought for their lives. 

That night everything changed. Her heart changed. It’d been broken before, but that moment where she watched the devastation clash against the strong ancient walls of Hogwarts, fallen in shadow, alight by hatred and greed. Hot red blood of their friends upon her hands in deep stains. The hue never lessened when she washed. It stayed and stayed.

Sometimes the blood turned to names of the dead. Fred Weasley appeared in the crimson red. Tonks and Remus, too. Poor Colin Creevey and Lavender Brown. Professor Snape was there in the blood, his eyes too. She remembered the way their life left to dull still.

“Bullocks!” She swore through her gritted teeth. “We’ve got to do something.”

Paris would be slaughtered if a thing happened to either of them. Draco Malfoy would kill every single person in the entire country. They’d take him to Azkaban. Their child would be forced to look at Draco through thick iron bars, that’s only if they allowed a child inside.

“I know what we can do,” Pansy said.

Doubt twisted her features. “Is it legal?”

There was a surge of pure horror that went through Hermione. Three men following two women at night, through dark streets did not require much stretch of the imagination to what they wanted. Witches knew just as well as muggle women what strange men were capable of. 

During the war was a time for many violent crimes. Death Eaters raped up and down the country when Voldemort came into control. It was an ugly time. Rape was an unpleasant experience, especially for witches whom never were taught how to avoid such things. The wizarding world was so trusting and kind. Before Him.

The two girls held each other close as they walked.

“No. But neither is what they want to do.”

She was right. There was no way to escape them without breaking the law. Her gut tightened when she thought of the things they might do to her at the Ministry if she were to break a law in France. How disappointed everyone would be. Ron and Harry would blame Draco for sure. 

But there are things she had to protect. The little embryo inside her body, for one.

Oh Merlin. Her baby. 

She couldn’t let these men hurt her baby!

“Alright,” she said through a swallow. “What’s the idea?”

“We each take a Pepper-Up and a swallow of liquid luck,” Pansy stated as if it was entirely normal. “You’ve got both in that bag of yours.”

“Never mind the fact that those two will amp our bodies into overdrive, we’ll be drained once they wear off. We will be easy targets then, Pans. There’s got to be another way.”

The footsteps were quicker. The two girls started walking quicker but not so much that it’d alert the men. It was important that they give themselves as much time as possible. Once they caught Pansy, her heels would have her falling over and breaking her ankles.

“Why can’t you wear more functional shoes?” Hermione spat in frustration.

“It’s not the war anymore. I can’t surrender fashion.”

Hermione touched her wand. There was no comfort in it. She wasn’t permitted to use it. Magic could not help her here.

“Once we take care of this, there won’t be any other muggles around, will there? We can apparate back to the flat to recover and stay there to wait for Ernie and Draco.”

Time was wasting away. The men were closer. They walked longer strides than the two girls. 

“I’m not strong without magic,” Hermione admitted quietly.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “We don’t have any choice but to be strong. Just make every strike count.”

There was nothing to more to be done. Decisions needed to be made.

Hermione searched through her vials with her fingers, knowing each topper like the back of her hand, she found the bottles they needed and the two sipped them quietly until the liquids were all gone.

The potion took immediate effect. 

It felt as though she’d drank a watermelon lemonade on a sunny, summer day. One touch of Draco did the same. Tension sank from her shoulders. She hadn’t noticed two men slide on each side of her. An arm slid around her waist and pulled her close. 

Hermione’s eyes rolled backward when the adrenaline of the Pepper-Up potion hit. The high was incredible. It was greater than orgasm. 

“I feel, I feel so…what is this? Bliss?” Hermione mumbled.

A rolling tide ripped through her body. Strength came back. Her back straightened, fists balled tight. There was no being in the universe that could stop her. Not the men who wanted to hurt her. Not the one flickering streetlamp that gave a pathetic glow, more hindering than good. Not the uneven cobble Paris street that tripped her backward onto the man’s chest. 

Fog clouded Pansy’s eyes as she stood completely still. She stared up at the sky. Once she started sway, Hermione knew the Pepper-Up had hit.

Disgusting breath forced its way into her nose as a man whispered in her ear. Smooth French words that made her melt when Draco spoke them assaulted her thoughts.

“Bliss? I’ll make you see heaven.”

Bile lurched up Hermione’s throat. His touch burned her bare flesh. Globs of salvia filled her mouth the longer the connection lasted with the absolute threat of upheaval over the curb.

“Bonjour mademoiselle.” The other man said it to Pansy. He, too, was flush against her. His hands ran down the length of her arms, holding her in place.

Thin eyebrows fell down the witch’s face. The black of Pansy’s eye glared up through the minuscule hairs like a possessed demon. A creepy large grin grew. Her toothy white smile glowed under the horrid lighting. She reached out and ran a finger against the man’s cheek. When her hand reached it’s destination at the back of the man’s head, she pulled it forward with a grunt and smashed it into her knee. 

A spray of blood spewed from the man’s nose. It splattered against Pansy’s clothes. For once, the witch did not care. She focused her glare to her attacker, now rising from the street with gritted teeth, and spat at him.

The two potions gave them incredible strength without the ability to process the pain. Momentarily.

Two other men surged forward when Pansy kicked the man back down to the ground. Hermione bared her nails like claws, smiled happily, and swiped down the length of their flesh, tearing red streaks through their skin. Blood coated her hands. Their screams filled the air. Pansy came from behind, kicking their knees out, and stepping on their throats until their screams were nothing but harsh breath.

Eventually they passed out. Their eyes closed in eerie silence.

“Come on, Mione. Let’s go before their dicks rise again and give them another bad idea.”

They clutched hands and apparated away.

The pair stumbled into the rented flat, suddenly unable to stand straight. Their bodies fell into a heap right where they landed, unable to control where either limb or neck or head went. A thick chunk of Pansy’s black hair settled in Hermione’s mouth. Her jaw refused to close. Everything stopped. It was heavy and slow. Her eyes hated every blink. 

She was so tired. The drain on their magic left them a clump of body on the floor. 

It reminded her of being under the paralyzed spell when Bellatrix cursed her. Only this time the only thing of life was her voice. 

“Pansy.” It was dry and cracked but her voice came out just the same. “Pansy.”

There was no doubt the two were alive. Hermione spoke and Pansy groaned long and low. A drain on magic was considered painful to some. It felt as if one’s spine was removed from their body in one powerful yank. 

Then Pansy’s body moved. 

Maybe not.

“Draco and I,” the witch’s words trembled out her throat as she croaked, “would never hurt you. I am not in love with Draco. Never would I sleep with him, carry on or do anything to jeopardize what I have. Distrust all you like but it is the truth.”

“Did he get you pregnant? Is that why you know the spell?”

Pansy shifted so their faces were near, pulling her hair out of Hermione’s face. “Draco was more cautious back then than he is now.”

“Then who? Who would need it?” Hermione asked. “Everyone knows that Draco was skilled in that area. It had to be him.”

“He’s not the only one at Hogwarts with secrets.”

The two girls laid there until strength came to their limbs. It took a minute. They moved like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. Her knees refused to bend without crumbling her to the floor. Pans’ ankle wouldn’t stretch either. 

Susan found them walking along the corridor of the flat like a pair of new-legged toddlers. 

“What’s happened?” She gasped.

Her wand transformed chairs below Pansy and Hermione. They fell into the seats with a contented sigh. The royal purple cushions bounced them, a fluffy comfort to their leaden bodies. She touched their cheeks, concern in every expression as she examined them.

“We were attacked in the street.” Pansy exhaled.

The pale of her face blanched. All colors, even that of her eyebrows and eyelashes, turned light. Pansy was a ghost. She ran her face across her face, smearing blood droplets across her flesh like Viking war paint.

Susan set about bringing tea. “Attacked?”

Her hands trembled as she poured the tea into ceramic cups. Each of the girls were levitated a cup and offered swallows of the warmth. Earl grey. The whiffs of steaming warmth gave life to Hermione once more. It calmed those frayed nerves.

What a day it had been.

From so in love to betrayed to mortified. Draco withstood the whiplash of her changing emotions like a champion. Her champion.

God, how could she have doubted him? 

His sexual past was not one that he hid. Nor was she ignorant to its existence. That was foolish. A girl’s insecurity. 

Over the course of their entire relationship Draco was nothing but honest. He spoke his mind. Even when he didn’t want to, he did. Truth he pledged every moment they were together like a compulsion. It was the only way they worked. Both their minds spoke what it knew to be true and allowed things to unfold as such.

She owed him the same privilege. He deserved that. Whatever she felt was as much hers as it was to him. They were a team. 

Teams don’t falsely accuse or let their childish insecurities and fears over being pregnant get in the way of their relationships. Tears bubbled to her eyes. Godric, she was scared.

What was her future going to be like? With Draco? With a baby? 

“A few muggles thought they found a few nice girls to take advantage of,” Pansy clarified. “We showed them.”

“They’re the ones who made you this way?” Susan asked.

Hermione wiped away her tears quickly. Neither needed to see her so sad. Not until Draco knew. She sat back in her seat, resigned of the news for the time and instead reveled in the glory of what she’d just done, what her and Pansy accomplished.

Three grown men, without the assistance of their wands. Witches like them, small and slender, unskilled in every area of physical combat there was, still managed to overcome three rough, drunk (by the smell of their breath) men.

The girls faced one another, sly smiles on their faces. They’d just kicked absolute arse. It was just like the war. Hermione felt so powerful in those come down moments, when the thrill of what she was capable of had not yet met the guilt she knew she’d get for not being more civilized.

Feeling came back to her fingers. She was able to touch the handle of the teacup lightly as it continued to levitate toward her lips and pour out a steady stream of tea.

Always the attentive one, Susan noticed Hermione’s strength return. She offered some of her personal stash of ‘feel good’ biscuits that she kept close for any upset that she needed to recover from. They were often chocolate. The best to help strength return and recover. It was a chocolate coconut biscuit that coated the thick slime of a Pepper-up potion. 

Hermione thanked for miracles in the form of little, red-headed Hufflepuffs that placed cool wet cloths against her forehead as the wicked heat of the potion ramped into high gear. When she finished with Hermione, she went to Pansy to cool her down. A red flush replaced the pale of her face.

“No.” Pansy shook her head. “That’s her doing.”

Susan’s eyes grew twice their size. “Hermione’s doing?”

“Was not. It was _your_ brilliant idea to take the potions together, so we’d be aggressive like Quidditch players. Did you see what you did to their knees? I saw their bones pop out.”

“Nothing worse than literally scratching their eyes out.”

Blood drained from little Susan’s face. She clasped her hands around her mouth in disbelief. 

Hermione glared at Pansy. “Not literally. Nothing fell out.”

“Except blood,” the witch added with a chuckle. “Ah, who cares about those low lifes anyhow? Better what we did to them than what Draco’ll do if he ever finds them.”

Her head fell forward. “Godric. Draco. Don’t remind me. His head is going to explode. Honestly.”

“We don’t have to tell him if you don’t want,” Pansy said.

“Now you’re the mental one.” Hermione pointed an accusatory finger. “If he were to find out on his own, he’d have our heads on display over his mantle at Malfoy Manor.”

Susan was washing away blood from Pansy’s face when she noticed something within the raven hair. Her jaw dropped. It was a tangle large enough to pull half her volume right out. She glanced back to Hermione with a pained look. It was the only pride that Pansy had, and with Ernie missing, her mood was on edge. It was bound to explode when she discovered the knot of a sailor.

“Say, Pans. It calms you when I plait your hair.” She swiped her red hair behind her ear. “Should I give you a pair?”

The tone of dread was missed by the particular ear of Pansy. She was so focused on her tea. Thankfully.

“Yeah.” She bobbed her head. “Sure.”

Susan set about making quick work of the tangle, hiding it within a thick plait. Her fingers moved in and out around and all around with precision. She sat on edge, teeth buried in her bottom lip as she worked.

“Oh Mione, hun. An owl brought a letter for you while you were out,” Susan said. “I set it on your desk. Hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want anyone to read it by mistake.”

“Brilliant. That’ll be Ginny’s reply.”

She turned to go but a quiet voice stopped her. Hermione looked back.

“What was that?”

“I said I love you. You know, as a friend.” Pansy blushed. “We put those guys in their place. Absolutely killed ‘em. Daphne or Millicent would have bailed on me. The cowards. But you stuck by. I’m so glad it was you I was with.”

Friendship with Pansy was a roller coaster. The beginning was mere politeness, forced a bit but each put work into being civil alongside the other to smooth past tensions. It was harder for Hermione than she realized. However, Pansy was a forceful witch. She dug her fangs to the ground and barreled through with impossible strength to repel or ignore. It just had to happen.

As time passed, suspicion dropped. They relaxed, convinced the other was not going to curse them behind their back, this a channel opened up for conversation that neither had engaged in. The party brought them closer together in an unexpected way. 

Hermione required much convincing to attend said party. Ginny and Luna spent an entire day reiterating the point of bonding amongst peers, parties were important, it was time to live etc. The idea that a social gathering would improve relations was not entirely founded. Still, there was a benefit to relaxation. It was hard to let loose without Harry and Ron around to comfort her. The war left her full of discomfort and suspicion. 

It’d taken two minutes with for Pansy to toss an outfit at her and bark that she had a minute to dress before she dragged her down to Hogsmeade. The threat was credible. Hermione climbed into the outfit with thirty seconds left to spare.

She was nervous then. The walk to Hogsmeade was a long one, and she did not like to parade around in social clothes within a formal setting such as Hogwarts. A group of second years gawked when they saw her. She nearly transfigured a floor-length sweater dress to hide the shame. It was that unbelievable blunt charm that only a confident witch like Pansy could possess that prompted her to stomp a foot out at the snickering students and shout as loud as she could, “What? Surprised the Golden Princess has a rockin’ bod?” A boy started to answer snarky, almost like a Slytherin, when she flicked a stinging hex at his feet sending the students falling over themselves to get away.

When Hermione crossed her arms in disapproval, Pansy rolled her eyes. “Ease up, Granger. They shouldn’t be out of bed at this hour anyhow. I did them a favor. If one of the Prefects caught them out of bed, they’d be in detention for weeks.”

That night was the night when Hermione sipped from Pansy’s cup too much. That led her to a pathetic plan to seduce Draco Malfoy, her childhood bully, for the sake of repayment (a madman’s idea now that she thought on it more. What the hell was wrong with her?). 

It changed her life. 

Tears in her eyes and quivering lip, she wrapped her arms around Pansy. “You’re the best.”

The two girls hugged, joined by another set of arms that felt left out in all the affection. They stayed that way until the late hours left them all in need of rest. Hermione retreated to her suite for quiet.

She did not need to read Ginny’s letter now. The issue was resolved. Still, she cracked open the lovely parchment to read the countless pages of Ginny’s excitement over return to England, equally her anger that she was kept waiting to here whether Hermione was alive or not, and the hilarity of Hermione’s jealousy.

_Hermione Jean Granger, you have absolutely lost it if you think Pansy and Draco are anything more than friends! I’d have hexed the hair grease off of him if that was true. Besides, why are you not suddenly concerned with it rather than when you first started dating? Nothing has changed, has it? Has something happened?  
Don’t be mad over the past. Things wouldn’t have worked between you two back then, even if he hadn’t dated Pansy. There is only the future to look to, and you have a lot to look forward to with him._

That was ridiculous. She wasn’t mad about that!

The past was the past. There was no way to change it. Sure, life would have been easier had Draco not been a prat their entire school hood and letting death eaters into the castle to assassinate Dumbledore wouldn’t have happened either. Fred might be alive then. Lupin and Tonks, too. 

Everyone might be alive if there wasn’t blood purity in the first place.

Draco might have been a great wizard back then. A gentleman as he was raised to be with pureblood witches instead of the foul mouthed one she remembered him to be. But there was great pity on him. She hated him for a while, but as she watched him through the years, the hate died to sympathy. Lucius was an ugly, cruel man. He forced little ideas onto his son whether his son like them or not. 

There were choices made by Draco, she knew, but he bore those regrets on his flesh in a blaring black tattoo and little white scars. She had her own scars, regrets, nightmares.

That was the past. The end of it all. A century left behind them both.

What was ahead was much more than all that. It was life. A life free of such fear that awaited her, and a child inside her. Not only was she a shining jewel for the entire wizarding world to covet as a precious rarity to their community, she would be the first Malfoy to be less than full blood. That would make her all sorts of news. The entire world would want to know what exactly she’d done to deserve such a life.

And her answer? She had no idea.

All she had ever done was what had to be done. There was no blistering moment of social pressure whether she questioned what route was for her. It was thrust at her with expectation. No other road to turn to. No other side to fight for.

Would they ever ask those to her beloved in the streets? Would the press knock on his door for insider tips on how to do the right thing, even when it breaks your heart? 

No.

The world did not care for him now. They threw him away. He was less than nothing in their eyes now that his master had been caught, all their blissful ignorance lifted away from their eyes. The wizarding world needed a devil, a villain, with whom to place their blame upon.

Hermione watched out over the railing of their balcony to a city of black and light. Dark shadows of neighborhoods fallen asleep battled against the thrum of other ones that raved with life until the early hours. The fresh air of the height stung in her lungs in frigid cold. In through the nose, out her lips. 

She missed Hogwarts. Things were easy at school, away from the world and in total protection. When she suffered with the unknown, the castle gave her Draco to help her through the aftermath of the war. Now, it was all unstable again. 

What were her and Draco going to do with a baby? Would they move in together? Would his family magic even accept the child? Would she be hired at the Ministry with a new baby? What would life be like with a baby?

A warm summer breeze blew. It ruffled her smooth waves to small tangles. The spell was strong enough to keep them tamed against the elements as long as a tornado didn’t land near. She gently caressed her brown locks, heavenly soft but still not as soft as Draco’s. It was fine and perfect. Mornings, she’d find herself toying with it, to his great annoyance. 

An image of a babe with hair of the same silky-smooth platinum warmed her heart. Oh Merlin. How could a beautiful angel come from her, a dirty little muggleborn? 

Hands cradled at her heart, she relaxed beneath the canopy amongst the pillows and fluffy blankets. She missed Draco. She wished to take back the past 12 hours. Her emotions got the best of her when she obsessed about things like that. It was the same in the beginning, too, when she’d get so angry with Ginny for speaking of him. It was all she could do to contain herself.

Draco was hers. He was everything she ever dreamed of, the answer to every single question she had, and brought back the meaning to her life when she’d lost it all in the war. Their magic was made for one another. It would never rest until they were together. And never would she.

The night turned late. Darkness fell to the city in a slow descending fade. Music of the streets silenced. The streets filtered clear of tourists and citizens as sleep overtook Paris in a soft sigh. 

Hermione tossed and turned as she slept. She saw evil eyes as she dreamed. Evil, red eyes. 

She’d started to shudder in fear, Voldemort was there trying to curse her as she was petrified, when a sudden awareness came to her mind. A sudden click within her body, her eyes opened.

Draco sat beside her, watching her as she slept. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No,” she said softly, shifted her body to ensure that her body was not petrified, and rose to her elbows. “I’m – I’m glad you did. What time is it?”

“Four.”

It was pitch black. A clouded sky devoid of stars hanged overhead. Only the dim light of a sickly gray moon split through. Eerie and strange, she shuddered as if in a chill.

He removed his coat and slung it over her shoulders. The rush of his scent and warmth lifted the sleep that threatened to send her back to the dreams of red eyes. That was the last thing she wanted.   
She awoke to the strange sense throughout their magic. It was not eagerly joined. Something refused to click. He withheld from her, withdrawn. His face was stretched thin, paler than a corpse. Red filled the whites of his eyes. 

Hermione chewed her bottom lip. “Did you find Ernie?”

He nodded.

Nothing else.

“Is he alright?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. It calmed her nerves slightly. “A few hours the tenderness will wear off and he’ll be right as rain.”

That was easing, in a way. Pansy thought he was dead. Or injured beyond repair, at least. If Ernie was entirely alright, that was a blessing, after being lost in a city such as Paris, where danger lurked in many corners.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What tenderness?”

“From the big tattoo on his ass.” He grinned through his exhaustion. It was an ugly face, the only one he had.

Hermione gasped. “He got a tattoo?”

“He and Pansy better get married, or a witch might be in for a big surprise on their wedding night.”

Although he found it chuckle worthy, Hermione did not. A permanent scar of another was serious, and sad. Ernie’s chances might be ruined if he and Pansy did not work.

A frown fell to her face.

“Theo did it on purpose, didn’t he?”

To her surprise, Draco shook his head. “I’d say after an entire day of drinking that no one was able to do anything with purpose. Walking, talking, pissing on things that aren’t themselves. Which reminds me.” He removed the shoes from his feet, careful not to touch the toe, and threw them over the balcony side.

“Draco!” She chastised. “What if they hit a person?”

“They’ll have had their lucky day. Hit in the head with limited edition shoes worthy as much as a house in Paris.” Then he stopped. “Well, as much as anyone could be lucky since they are piss soaked shoes. But they are bound to make someone feel special. That I know.”

“I take it that Ernie was a bit drunk then.”

“No, no. Not a bit. He was completely gone. He couldn’t remember his name when I found him,” Draco said.

After getting to a pub, Ernie and Theo quickly lost track of time since they both were sloshed. So, they stumbled around Paris, pub to pub, drinking and talking in nonsense, before the wizards fell into a back alley tattoo shop that would tattoo upon a corpse if it had the money. They got tattoos. Theo forgot he was with Ernie. He left once his was done and apparated to the flat, after a few mistaken tries, and vomited all down the hall until Susan found him. Ernest passed out during the tattoo, and so was left in an alley to sleep it off. That’s where Draco found him amongst the filth and the bile.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “Not how I expected my night to go.”

Guilt ran up through Hermione’s guts. If only she’d been kind at the restaurant…

“I’m sorry, Draco. This is my fault. I ruined -.”

“No. No. Nothing is your fault,” he said.

Hermione gripped his hand. “Honestly, I accuse you of cheating and you say it isn’t my fault? It is.”

He smirked. A finger danced across her cheek. It dropped down to her bottom lip, pulling it from between her teeth. 

“I would have overcome that hurdle. I’m quite convincing, you know. I’ve managed to keep the Golden Princess in love with me these ten months. That belongs in a book.” He kissed her forehead. “Hermione, I love you. There is nothing that you ruin. You make it better. Everything. Better.”

“I love you, too,” she said with a large smile. Her arm snaked up around his neck. “You’re the only one for me.”

They laid there in the softness of the morning unwilling to fall asleep. Hermione refused to close her eyes on the man she loved. His ear rested against her chest. The sound of her heart played a content melody that they lived to. It beat faster as he kissed her flesh.

Hermione touched his silky hair with great greed. She never tired of it. She never would.

A split came to the sky as light bled through the heavy darkness. Hues of pink and red and purple glowed against the horizon. Clouds of fluffy grey broke of the open air of color. It was the best reward for a night so downtrodden. The highest hopes wrecked by jealousy, accusation, paranoia, and the typical ‘boyfriend lost in Paris’ routine.

She held him tighter to her chest. She couldn’t believe his forgiveness was so endless that he’d not be angry after what she’d done. He was so kind, so thoughtful. It was his plan for a special night together in a special place. 

Godric. She sniffed back her tears. What’d she ever do to deserve such a love?

Draco rose to watch the sun rise. His eyes stared off into the spreading spill of warmth. The light washed across his features, relaxing the tension of his jaw and eyes. 

“Do you remember Christmas?” He pondered.

She hummed her answer. “Yes.”

He stood up suddenly, grabbed her hands and pulled her to standing. Her trust was in him, explicitly. She allowed him to swirl her in his arms as his wand gave life to a low, bellowing tune. It was folksy. A thick guitar tune thrummed through the speakers. The sound was unlike his typical music preference. She looked at him quizzically.

His nose came close to hers. “I heard this song when I was looking for Ernie. It…it just fit.”

She listened closely as he lead her across their imaginary dance floor, swaying and swirling her body.

_“I used to spend my nights out in a barroom,_  
Liquor was the only love I've known,  
But you rescued me from reachin' for the bottom,  
And brought me back from being too far gone.” 

She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Draco’s face. Closed eyes. Lost in the melody she felt vibrate her chest. The loss of all mask, all shields, all distance he placed upon himself left the angelic beauty of his tortured soul. Broken, bloodied, beat down by life, given the most at birth but with the bitter taste of payment of the Devil came. It ruined everything he had.

_“You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey,_  
You're as sweet as strawberry wine,  
You're as warm as a glass of brandy,  
And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time.” 

“When I hear this song, I think of you. I see how I was before, and I think of that first night together. I think of all the first times you’ve given me. First times I never thought I’d see after the war,” he said, almost in a whisper.

She was still lost in the open feeling of his expression. “You’ve given me so many things, too. More than I deserve.”

“I can never give you all you deserve,” he answered. “But I’ll try. I’ll spend each waking moment loving you harder and better than the one before. I can make all this right. The past, the present, the future. I can right it all.”

He hugged her closer. She leaned into the embrace, it’s comforting surround, a place she yearned for in the days, hours, minutes that things were hard, and inhaled the scent of him, strong cologne not offensive or overpowering. It was like him: confident and cool. 

It was the scent that filled their passions. Nights locked in tongues flutter, the taste of ecstasy and comfort of experience within someone they last expected to supply it, though it was the precise thing they needed to bring themselves back from the dark shadows of themselves.

Hermione looked at the man she loved, lost in his demeanor. The embrace of his magic around her, the touch of that calm, endearing, precious touch of his joined with hers, that there was no touch in the world that would pull her away from it ever.

“Hermione, there is something we have to do. Something I must do.” His nose ghosted down the length of hers, and back round up the other side. “Come with me. Please.”

There was no question. She’d follow him anywhere.

He grabbed hold of her hand, steady hold on her heart and apparated her away from the flat.

She landed back on a familiar street, lighter than she remembered with dawn on the sky, but the grip on her fingers centered her thoughts back to what it meant to be back at the restaurant. The restaurant Draco had planned in Paris, for the pair of them to spend a special night together. One she’d botched, completely.

It was closed. After hours. The entire place was fallen silent, eerie still, cloaked in a sort of shadow impenetrable to the impending morning light. 

“Draco, I think, it’s closed.”

He didn’t respond.

Perhaps he’d paid them to open after hours. It was not beyond the reach of a Malfoy to do such a thing. His wealth was immeasurable. The thought was driven away by the complete empty black. There was not a soul inside.

“Draco,” she turned on toe and stopped short.

There upon a filthy street in a suit probably hand stitched by work elves somewhere with their ancient practiced hands, a suit worth the cost of a modest house in muggle London, one of Draco’s knees was dropped to that very walked upon street with two arms outstretched, an open velvet box within his grasp.

Hermione gasped. Her hands shot to her mouth.

“Do you remember when we were attacked by werewolves?” He asked.

Her mind went blank. Werewolves? That’s what he was rattling on about?

“Yeah,” she answered, brow fixed in question.

“You remember why you went out to find them in the first place?”

She swallowed. “Because, uh, I’d thought you’d chosen to go back to Pansy and, um, left me.”

“When I left to find Pansy, I demanded that we stop in Paris so that I could take you to this one place.” He meant the restaurant. “It was always in my head that I would propose to my future wife here, just as my father and grandfather did. And I felt it in my heart that day, that if you were to end up with another wizard other than me, I’d be broken. Forever. If you did not become a Malfoy, there was no hope for me to ever be happy again.”

Her jaw fell.

“I am drawn to you like a moth to flame. Unable to look away from the beauty, unable to care of the sweet burn sure to follow.” A fair gleam came to his eye. “Will you marry me?”

A black velvet box displayed a ring of woven gold band and a large diamond of black. It was unique, quite different from any other engagement ring. 

Draco held the most precious expression on his face, one of love. Pure love. There wasn’t a nerve about him. Him, the king of nervous confidence that he was, never felt he was good enough for her. That man was long past. All he held was absolute devotion in his hand. 

He’d just offered himself to her, unafraid of her answer because he knew there was nothing left to lose. If he lost her, he’d lose everything. She felt much the same. If they were not together, they were bound to be two ships lost at sea, doomed to crash into rocks too hard and awful for their holds, until they finally drowned.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy.” She cradled his face in her hands, finally finding her voice again. His grey eyes met hers. They danced in her view. “If you are to burn, then I am to. As your wife.”


	22. More Secrets

### More Secrets

Italy was the next stop on holiday. 

They loaded themselves into their closet sized room for the ride, from Paris to Milan, stopping in Switzerland midway. It departed first thing in the morning, so none were chatty as they loaded their belongings onboard. 

It was noticeably quiet between Ernie, Pansy, and Theo. More so than just the early morning exhaustion.

Susan sat between Theo and Pansy so that they might not kill one another in a rage. A repeat of the night before. She smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair away as she engaged with Theo, quietly, keeping the tension of the party light and airy. Their words were comfortable, polite.

She expressed excitement for their adventure in China, fast approaching. It chugged closer as they plunged deeper into the continent. Theo assured her of the fun times they’d have. He spoke of their shared flat. She wanted a two bedroom, cozy and comfortable, a small traditional flat for the two to share in Chinese culture. By the little glitter of her eyes, she sought a place to submerge herself in. 

Britain had slowly and surely killed many of her reasons to live. Her faith in humanity was risked. Every belief ruined by the surface of Lord Voldemort, thus exposing the dark side to the wizarding world, and costing her the family that made her. 

Theo needed escape, as well. His father’s imprisonment was a tough tarnish upon his dignity. It led to a bottle being a nurse and therapist, to all the pain. The laughs were a wicked devious shield to the deep sadness beneath the flesh, the very guts of a wizard torn apart by a war and split loyalties. Although he’d been spared a Dark Mark, he was indeed aligned with the mess of Death Eaters, forever.

He pushed for a third bedroom with his sweet Hufflepuff roommate, a roomier place, something similar to home, so their guests might have the comfort of their own space during a visit. 

“What guests?” Pansy snapped. “You’ll be lucky if you ever see me again, Theodore Figgis Nott.”

It’d been a mad fight when Ernie was returned to the flat once Draco found him. A few curses were fired. Theo had a pair of swollen beaver teeth, Pansy’s cheeks puffed twice their size, bats flew out of noses, and legs were a pair of jiminy cricked sticks that refused to function.

It’d been Hermione’s job first thing to right their cursed appearances before departing for the train station.

Draco and Hermione sat opposite the mess of people on the other side. They all shoved themselves together in their anger, oddly enough.

Hermione wrapped her arms around Draco’s bicep and leaned against him, tired as ever, from the night before. Her hair was controlled by a one sided plait. Little baby hairs tickled her eyebrows as she stared off at her companions, lost in thought, fighting the threat of sleep as the train rocked her so peacefully.

There were gentle waves within Pansy’s dark length from last night’s plait. It gave definition to her otherwise flat style. She wore a simple shift dress with a long frilly grey cardigan. It was rather relaxed than her typical posh presentation. 

Lack of sleep was her stylist.

Ernie drifted off to sleep as he sat. Every so often, he’d catch himself in his seat from falling over. There was a likely possibility that he was still a bit sloshed. He slipped his hand into his blazer and grabbed out a small vial. It was an anti-nausea potion of creamy pink. As he tilted it back to drain the contents into his open mouth, the cover of his sleeve slipped back and revealed a collection of markings upon his hand.

Hermione gasped. “Ernest! What’s happened to your hand?”

Between the two knuckles of his fingers were thick black tattoos. All over. They decorated his flesh on both hands of his creamy pale. There was a wand with sparks out the end. Another was a black ‘H’ striped of gold. Another was a golden snitch. A small lightning bolt. 

“The least painful of my mistakes,” he replied flatly.

It was a clear source of tension between the three of them. Pansy went rigid at their mention. Theo’s gaze shifted quickly throughout the room. Anywhere but Ernie’s new collection of tattoos.

Draco’s hand squeezed her hand gently. A soft reminder of his support in a tense environment that she generally hated. Magic surged around her in a blanket of protection and ease. 

Even Ernest was ashamed of their presence. He pulled the fingers back below his sleeve, the probable reason of long sleeves on a summer day.

Hermione quickly found her thoughts. “Can I see them?”

Her hand outstretched the space between. Although there was hesitation in him, he offered his hands. 

“I rather like them,” she said after close inspection of them. They were brilliantly detailed for their small space. “They were done by a muggle?”

Ernie nodded. “Yeah. The man had a beard like Dumbledore’s and was covered in tattoos himself.”

“Honestly, they’re brilliant.” She fingered his hand, running over the smooth surface. It was as if he’d colored ink of a pen upon his flesh. She felt the raise of the designs.

It was that statement that attracted a bit of Pansy’s attention. She overlooked Hermione as the designs were examined.

“You really think so?” Ernie asked.

“I do.” Hermione nodded. “The artist must have been quite talented. These are beautiful. As a Muggle, he’s done spectacular. Is that a Phoenix?”

Pansy leaned forward and touched the bird. “I thought that it was pleasant to look at.”

“It is. It’s much like Ernie, I daresay.”

Hermione was busy holding and touching Ernie’s hand that she hadn’t been thinking about much else.

Susan suddenly leaned forward from beside Pansy. “Hermione. What’s that?”

“What?”

“That there.”

What the witch pointed to was the giant ring at home between her pinky and middle finger. 

It’d been so late the night before and with all the drama in the flat, Draco and Hermione hadn’t announced their engagement to their friends. There was never a moment that felt appropriate. Even now, it was not what she expected out of announcement.

Hermione withdrew her hands. She glanced back at Draco with a bitten bottom lip. If she let it go, she will burst into smiles and just not stop. 

A claw latched onto her hand and pulled her forward, out of her seat to the floor, and brought her hand up above her head.

“Is that…?” Pansy looked at Draco with disbelief.

“It is.” He confirmed.

“Nooooo.” There was a wicked grin of shock and glee. “Oh, Narcissa is going to just hate that.”

Hermione wretched her hand out of the grasp. Long red lines from Pansy’s fingernails dragged down their surface. She rubbed their sting away. 

“Why? Because a mudblood’s touched it?”

All eyes of the room landed on her; the air sucked out in an instant. A hush overtook all sound of breath, motion, heartbeat.

Draco’s magic became a wall behind her. It loomed overhead without him having moved a muscle from his seat.

“Don’t call yourself that,” he said sharply.

As if the power of the term mattered any longer. It didn’t sting. She hardly noticed at all when it was used. It was a silly word that once held meaning, like Voldemort. People shied away from using it back then, but now, the idea was moot.

Hermione shrugged and continued, “Why’s she going to hate it?”

Draco said nothing. His eyes fixed to Pansy. The two shared a moment of silence, one that confused everyone, or the very least, it confused her. What was the secret? Did it matter or was it a pureblood thing?

“This is one of Merlin’s precious stones,” Pansy finally revealed.

The entire train exhaled. 

“Merlin? Thee Merlin?” Ernie questioned in total disbelief.

Hermione herself found the news too mad to believe. She waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Pansy snorted. “Deny it all you like. Doesn’t make it less true. Draco’s given you the most precious, expensive, sought after stone in all of history. The black eye of Merlin. This has got to be the most treasured thing within the Malfoy family vaults.”

“You’re kidding.” Hermione hoped it was a joke. A bad joke. 

The witch shook her head. No. Not a joke. 

The weight of what was on her hand suddenly felt overwhelming. It was too heavy. Too rare. Too much.

“You can’t give me this.” She placed her hand on Draco’s lap. “This is too much to give to me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Big news, everyone. Hermione and I are getting married.”

Smiles alit their faces. A bit of surprise in Susan’s. She clapped excitedly. Theo chuckled. Ernie congratulated them, a very obvious joy about him.

Pansy was the only one who paused. “Is that all?”

“What you mean, _all_?” Theo snickered.

“No other news, I mean.”

Draco sneered. “I’ve only just gotten engaged, Pans. Not good enough for you? Shall I announce that we’ve swapped wands and have adopted a werewolf? Will that be news enough for you?”

Her brown eyes gave a swift glance toward Hermione before they targeted back forward.

She shrugged. “You two weren’t engaged already? Figured all that love stuff meant you were to be married soon. If you expect us to be surprised, don’t be so obviously in love.”

“You’re tarnishing their announcement, sweetheart,” Ernie declared. “We really are over the moon about it. Even if Pansy does seem ungrateful.”

Draco nodded to Ernie. “Thank you. At least someone remembered to be proper.”

It was a splendid triumph that Ernie and Pansy were back to discussion as a couple. They were less tense with one another as the journey to Italy continued. His tattooed hand even laced in with hers.

All were touched by the reunion, even if they tried not to appear so. It was a great relief to have Ernest with Pansy. A beautiful bit of control to the changing tides of her moods, not different than Dracos.

Susan moved across the compartment to gush over the ring. She loved the black diamond. It was so different that it was perfect. They discussed things about the wedding, what Hermione thought she might do, how much she wished she wouldn’t miss Neville and Hannah’s wedding. They were to be married soon. Neither wanted to wait after Hogwarts too long. It was the opposite of Harry and Ginny, who were comfortable taking things at their level. Neither was in a rush.

By the time they departed the train, all were breathed in with new life. A renewed sense of contentment.

Milan was a crowded place. It thrived with life. The platform of their train was packed like a can of sardines. It was the last thing Ernie wanted to do while nursing the worst hangover of his life, more nauseous than conscious. Hermione sympathized. Mornings were a struggle for her. It was not nausea, just an upset feeling that lasted well into lunch.

Draco grabbed her luggage, shrunk into one single case to avoid the suspicious of the train employees who often asked where their belongings were. He carried his and hers, one in each hand, and pushed through a crowd of tourists with a downward snarl. It parted the crowd effectively. She walked closely behind. More than once, she stepped on his heels.

“Sorry,” she’d whisper.

To avoid being lost amongst the sea of people, the rest of the group marched in a tight line, bumping into their leader at any short stop. Pansy hissed at Theo so many times that Ernie changed places so that a duel didn’t erupt in front of the entire country of Italy.

“You have to talk to her,” Hermione told Draco once they’d found the street that Blaise lived on. It was not too far from the train station. Pansy thought it’d give them a great look of the city rather than the grey bustling street walk that it truly was. “They can’t fight like this. It’s going to get us all exposed.”

Draco listened to their bickering with a dramatic eye roll. “Let them fight it out. Believe me, it’s better not to intervene. They’ll be attached at the hip soon enough and we’ll all be wishing for these days.”

“What if they hurt each other? Or Merlin forbid, another person?”

He sighed, long and low.

“This being a good friend thing is ruining my life.” He growled. 

She grinned. “Thank you.”

“Pansy!” He called. “Why in the bloody hell am I leading your tour?”

The girl swiped the black strands out of her eyes. She marched to the front. “If your damn ego gave anyone else the chance to lead, you wouldn’t be. Move over. No, no. Don’t let me disrupt your loafer’s intention at being the most arrogant thing in Milan.”

Although the witch was ramped by Theo’s arguments, she played carefully around Draco. It was not done in anger. The lighthearted swat at his belongings was evident of that. Especially since she’d punted Theo’s bag into a traffic-ridden street two blocks passed.

Pansy took the helm of the walking tour to Blaise’s townhouse within the city limits of Milan. His personal estate was out of the city a ways, but he preferred the city during the week, according to Pansy’s informational rambling.

“You did tell him that you’d have guests, did you not?” Draco asked.

The witch flicked a few fingers over her shoulder in dismissal. “Like I’d allow anyone to outshine me.”

“Pansy.” The tone warned her to approach the truth, quickly. 

A pureblood was brought up on the strictest manners. If Draco were to show up unannounced to another’s home, it would reflect poorly on his breeding. A wizard like Draco would die rather than be improper. Hermione found it all rather circular thinking but kept the thought to herself. 

She opted to observe the architecture they passed.

“Of course, I told him of our plan months ago,” Pansy said with a tone to match. “I am perfectly capable of this position as hostess, and I’d like you to remember it. It’s my holiday. I’m in charge.”

The blonde witch was visibly shocked by it. “Says the witch who made _me_ hunt through Paris to find one of her lost charges. Had I known the line of authority; I’d have told you to bugger off.”

A grand cathedral was on their left. Hermione was entranced by it. She stopped to stare in the awe at the enormity of it of decorated building, not only functional, but as beautiful as the day. 

The grounds were scattered with few tourists. How could that be? Didn’t they know that most churches held impressive libraries worthy of a university? She stopped against the iron gates, gripping the metal in her hands, and that’s how Draco found her many minutes later.

He followed her line of sight and scoffed. “You lived in a castle for seven years and this cathedral impresses you?”

His arm outstretched for her to take it. She complied, returning back to the walk. Her small white trainers tapped against the pavement as they walked amongst the brilliant townhouses that lined the roads. All were ancient, beautiful decorated stone faces, four stories tall, dipping with the road and rising with it.

Every muggle wished for a life such as that. A beautiful house, on a beautiful street, enriched in culture and comfort. A bit of her yearned for that normal life. The life that she was owed after all she’d done for the world.

Her hand held tight to his arm. “What will our home be like, Draco?”

“You mean the place in Surrey?”

“Castle. The castle in Surrey,” she corrected. “And yes. What will it be like to live there?”

He inhaled. “Well, it’s Reigate Castle. There is a room with every kind of purpose imaginable. Ballroom, Owlery, dungeon, library.”

Hermione went giddy.

“A library? Truly?”

Draco grinned down the length of his nose. “A library fit for only you. I’ll be surprised if you finish half of the books inside.”

“Care to wager?”

There was a tingly spark in her skin. Games with Draco were a thrill, the test of her determination. More often, the win was less intoxicating than giving in to Draco’s lures.

“I’m listening,” he practically sang.

“If I haven’t read half of them in six years’ time, you may…book out a Quidditch pitch and have me play as Keeper,” she said. “And you know how I am on a broom. That is how confident I am that I shall win.”

Italy brought out a lighter side to Draco. He wore a trench coat of medium tan, a polar opposite to his usual monochromatic style. There was a vest of grey beneath it, a white-collar shirt, identical grey slacks. The patterned navy tie was an ode to his days drenched in darker color. She rather liked his holiday fashion. It contradicted the serious manner in which he held himself. The grey vest, slacks, tie and Salvatore Ferragamo Oxfords were a more relaxed Draco she adored.

The sun of the day was beautiful. It was warm, but not too much so. Her light blue capris, dainty white trainers meant for gentle walking, and billowy lilac blouse kept her cool enough as to not become over sweaty and moist. 

As a girl on Draco’s side, it was expected that she be as perfect as a model. That was much pressure. Draco did not believe so. He thought it ridiculous to worry about what others would think of her because she was the one who had him, not the other way around. It was clear that he was not self-conscious. She couldn’t just pretend that she matched his attraction level. 

She made great effort to maintain an appearance fitting of Draco’s station, no matter how much true effort it required of her.

Pansy made a squawk at the front of the line. “This is it! Here it is. He’s even gotten his name on it, oh for Salazar sake! He’s vainer than Draco. Look at that. Why not lease a banner to drench to house with his name so that the entire block knows?”

Ernie moved to the front by Pansy’s side as she marched up the stone stairs. Draco and Hermione, hot on their heels. Susan and Theo were behind, talking amongst themselves and marveling at the street, one that even Hermione noted, was an entirely muggle part of Milan. 

Exclusivity in Italy was only done so in muggles parts; the wizarding world was too small and disinterested in such blatant displays.

“You’ve not told me what you want if you were to win,” he commented under his breath. 

The Slytherin witch rang the bell, after Hermione’s small instruction since a knocker was absent.

“A bell? That is quite clever.” Pansy hit it once more, then again since she couldn’t hear any bells.

Hermione was pulled close to Draco’s side. “You do know I love to read, don’t you? Honestly. I’ll be the winner no matter what because I’ll have read so many books. Imagine what I might learn.”

A mocha-skinned man opened the door. He bade them inside off the street. Like the pop of a bubble, they felt themselves enveloped into the house’s privacy and anti-apparation wards.

The air was warm. Windows street-faced were open, allowing a gentle summer breeze whisper in from outside. Dense curtains rested to either side of the latticed glass. 

It was a snug foyer, modernly updated in a sea of fresh, clean white paint with warm wooden floors. Brushed bronze spindles lined the steep stair up to the overlook of the second story. In the vast space of free air hanged a chandelier of circles upon circles of lit candles. The halo glow casted odd shadows upon the rest of the bright space.

One wall of the entrance was filled with built-in shelves, plump full of books of every generation. Some were new leather. Their crisp bindings were shiny and untouched. Others were far more fragile. They were dull in color. Leather, cracked in places, perfumed with their age. 

One large archway sat on each side of the foyer, a continuous flow from one room to the other. A desk was center in the one to the right, an office of some kind. It had quills, parchment, a few books.

The room to the left was done up with couches, chairs, tables, a giant fireplace in the center of it all. The soft blue of the dotted wallpaper clashed nicely with portraits framed in gold upon every surface of the walls. 

Pansy stood in wait in the foyer. “We’re not to be greeted by our host?” Her foot stomped. Her demanding gaze was at the butler who motioned for them to stay where they were. It was an insult. Apparently. Hermione was ready to wait but her friend wouldn’t have it. “We’ll wait in the parlor when he’s ready to grace us with his presence, the prat. I will not be treated like some commoner off the street. It is an insult to the house of Parkinson. Insult, I say!”

The shriek echoed through the empty of the home. It bounced off every wall, leaving every belief that their arrival was heard in all corners of the place. 

She started to march into the parlor to their left but was thrown back into the foyer once she crossed the threshold of the room. 

“Why the son of a - .”

“My ears are burning,” a voice replied flatly. It came from deep within the house. There was that hidden tone of power that commanded its authority over all in its domain. “I’ll just wager that it’s Pansy. There is no witch alive who can give me a migraine like her.”

Draco chuckled under his breath. The voice, again, noticed.

“Was that a Malfoy snicker I heard? Why I didn’t think there was one alive and out of prison.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. She did not like that. It was a horrid thing to say about him. If only they knew what he’d been through just to overcome his father’s forced legacy…

She stiffened her hand in Draco’s. He patted it lightly.

“Don’t worry. The opinions of cowards and deserters hardly concerns me. Why, I doubt there is a wizard alive that respects the word of a Zabini,” he stated.

“You’re one to talk.” The voice rumbled down the hall until it greeted them lowly.

Finally, a figure emerged from the depths. It was short, not tall like her Draco was, and was average. The figures arms were taut, knotted behind its back as it glided forward as if a crowd balanced upon his head. It took ages for light to illuminate their host to the eye.

He looked exactly as he had in Hogwarts. A vain look of superiority upon his face as he glanced through the front of their party. 

“Ah, the mudblood lover.” Blaise greeted Draco. Then he turned to Pansy with a curl at the edge of his mouth. “And the Huffle-fucker. Interesting spread you’ve anointed yourselves with. Rather kill the bitch than touch her, wasn’t it, Draco? And Pansy. A Hufflepuff? Need I say more?”

Draco’s arm possessively wrapped around Hermione, pulling her a step back away from their host. “Such a familiar tone. I’d have thought a refugee as yourself might have changed it since the Dark Lord’s fall. Wouldn’t want this cushy life of yours spoiled by such connections, would you?”

The room filled with tension. It sparked the air. Just before a battle, when the air fell quiet and sticky in anticipation, that’s what it felt like. The war. It brought her back to empty fields, skies split with black clouds, screams. So many screams.

Lost in memory, she’d built up a wall of thick magic around her. Venomous. Ready to attack. She was ready for what curse would sling. It wasn’t until Draco’s magic touched hers lightly that she realized how dense her piping hot magic was. A single thumb ran down her arm, cooling the tension instantly.

“Oh, wipe that scowl off your mug, Pansy, before it stays like that.” A lazy smile showed a set of brilliant white teeth. “Hufflepuffs scare easy, you know.”

Pansy yawned loudly, patting her mouth in drastic exaggeration. “You done?”

Blaise nodded. “Grumpier than I remember.” He then turned to Draco. “At least someone still likes to play.”

The host stuck out his hand which Draco shook. They both smiled and said their greetings like normal people did. Blaise welcomed Hermione to his home. He’d just about reached out his hand to shake hers, a significant act from a pureblood like Blaise, when the brown eyes caught a glance over her shoulder and narrowed. The smile left.

“You,” he bellowed. “Get out of my house.”

He pushed through until he came right before Theo Nott. “Get. Out.”

Blaise’ tone was so vicious that it would not have been strange to see him bite a flesh out of Theo’s arm. He was near foaming. So angry. His slanted dark eyes were so narrowed, filled with rage, a commanding voice that echoed through the halls once more.

Theo’s face was blown wide. His eyes were double their size, as was his mouth in shock. “What’s gotten into you, Blaise?”

“You didn’t tell me he’d be here.” He spat at Pansy.

She was equally confused. “A last-minute change of plan. That is Theo, that is…” Blaise was unmoved. “Theodore Nott.”

“We only shared a dorm for seven years!” Theo exclaimed.

Something was between the Slytherins that Hermione didn’t understand. She stood out of the way with Susan and Ernie, not wanting to disrupt whatever was between them all. 

If the journey had proved one thing, it was that Slytherins kept to themselves in Hogwarts but were no less plagued with drama. It was not to ever be heard of. General consensus in Hogwarts was that all Slytherins got along, evil together and the like. They were all confidants of the others. Now, it was proven anything but true. Though they did not show such disagreements outside their dormitories, they were still filled with teenage angst and grudges the same. 

Hermione bit her lip. Draco was close to Blaise, one hand on the wizard’s shoulder. She worried for his safety. Her wand was close to her hand, just in case he needed her.

Like reading a thought, his icy grey eyes raised to meet hers. A subtle shake of his head released her hold on the wood.

“I want that dog out of here now,” Blaise shouted.

“ _Dog?_ ” Theo repeated with disgust.

Apparently, that was the time for Pansy to start to care. She dropped the overly large black sunglasses off her face. “We know he’s a dog. That’s not news. He’s always been that way.”

Theo shot her a sharp glare. His mouth silently spoke words that looked a lot like, “Fuck off.”

“Get that bloody bastard out of here!”

Blaise was livid. The veins in his forehead near popped from his skin. He’d just about ripped his wand from its holder at his side when a soft voice hummed through the walls.

“BB.” It called.

It changed the entire mood of the room. The Slytherins seemed to recognize it. The most changed was Theo, who towered over Blaise now with a nasty anger. His lips trembled with fury. Draco changed, too. He grabbed hold of Theo’s shoulders and held him back away from Blaise as if he was to lunge at the wizard’s throat.

Question crossed Pansy’s face as she looked to her side. The Italian wizard shuttered himself. He withdrew from the moment, a face devoid of much reaction as his friends changed dramatically. He fussed with his tie before returning a soft call back to the voice.

“Stay there. I’ll be a minute,” he said. “Just sweeping out the filth.”

“You bastard!” Theo pulled the leash of Draco’s arms taut. His arms shot out in front of him, clawing their way at Blaise. “Her? _Her?_ You slick git.”

Susan’s finger touched Hermione’s shoulder. “Who is she? Do you know?”

“No,” she whispered back.

Whoever it was had to be a Slytherin. There was no other explanation.

Blaise struggled against Theo’s hold as Draco struggled to restrain him. They all latched at each other’s clothes in death grip without care of their luxury linens wrinkles. Their shoes scuffed against the floors. A thick fog of tension. Pansy pulled away from the group. She was more interested in the voice. Each way she searched through the house to find it’s source. 

All the while, Blaise and Theo shouted at one another.

“Blaise!” Draco grunted when the wizard’s hands grabbed Theo’s throat. He pulled them apart.

It left Blaise wide open. A leg kicked up from the roaring bull that was Theo and thudded square in his chest. He fell backward with a sharp inhale. Theo stomped forward to deal another blow but was meant with an extended wand. Blaise snapped a curse off at him that send Theo to his knees, bound and tied with cords upon cords.

A soft gasp came from Susan’s lips. Her hands covered her mouth in shock.

The scene was intensified by the wizards grunts all trying to force the others in other direction. 

Hermione saw a figure of all white appear down a hall. It came out of nowhere. The house birthed another being into their presence just as Blaise had once emerged. 

“Blaise,” the soft voice gasped in shock.

Everyone stopped.

The witch of golden blonde hair, sky blue eyes, a grace of a personified angel, sat within a wheelchair. She was dressed in all white. A billowy white gown, what an angel would wear within the clouds. She was rather beautiful. Familiar to all.

Pansy shrieked in joy. “Daph!”

She ran toward the witch and wrapped her arms around her neck. 

It was Daphne Greengrass, a fellow student of Hogwarts, elder sister of Astoria Greengrass, who disappeared from England sometime after the war ended. Blaise was known to be in Italy, his home country, so it was not guessed they’d be together. 

Draco’s arms dropped to his side. He ran a single hand through his hair. He was the wizard who was ignored. Blaise kept his eyes fiercely on Theo who rubbed his over and over again, not believing what he saw.

“I can’t believe it’s you.” Pansy was beside herself with joy. “I’ve missed you in England all these months. When are you coming back? Why haven’t you come to see me?”

“What the hell are you doing here with Blaise?” Theo asked swiftly.

The joy of Daphne’s face fell away. She looked at Theo with near tears in her eyes. Blaise jumped to her defense, turning on toe and facing Theo as a block between the two.

“Isn’t it obvious, Nott? They’re married,” Draco said.

“Married?” Theo echoed harshly. “You married him?”

It was clearly directed at Daphne, who hanged her head as if in shame. 

“Don’t you dare open that mouth of yours,” Blaise said. “Don’t you speak to her.”

Hermione was wildly confused. She looked to either Hufflepuff for explanation, but none came. They hadn’t a clue to what the problems were. But they knew to stay out of the way.

Daphne’s hand hid her face as she slumped into her seat. 

“Daphne. What the hell is this? What are you doing with him? Why are you in that chair?” Theo fired off question after question, contorting Blaise’s face from anger to sheer red. 

They were about to be at each other’s throats again when Daphne straightened, overcome with her manners, she gestured toward the parlor. “Perhaps we should sit down. I’ll ring for tea.”

“But D...”

“I am fine, Blaise. We can do this,” Daphne stated evenly. “They’re our friends. We owe them some explanation.”

He agreed with his wife, but didn’t release the scowl when he looked to Theo. “He’s not my friend. But I’ll allow for Pansy and Draco to hear.”

“But he’s with us,” Pansy said. “We’re all together.”

“Then you can leave together.” Blaise glared.

“I’ll not be going anywhere!” Pansy shrieked with another dignified stomp. “Daphne is my friend. I’ve not seen her for nearly a year, not a single word either, you pompous arse. We’ll all be staying for some damn tea, biscuits and a bit of answers!”

Hermione noticed a slight wave of Draco’s wand, and the cords released their hold. It allowed the wizard to rise. However he was held back by one clenching hold of Draco. 

They were all ushered into the blue parlor with tea and biscuits, finger sandwiches and pastries. There was a small loveseat where Hermione and Pansy smashed together, leaving their boyfriends with frowns as they chose a seat elsewhere. 

Two grey eyes glared intensely at he sat across the room. She swallowed back a chuckle as she dropped a sugar cube into her cup and Pansy’s. The Slytherin witch fussed over a smudge on Hermione’s capri’s. They had been a choice at a shop in Paris at Pansy’s insistence. She used her wand to nurse the stain, lifting it from the fibers.

Tension was thick through the air as polite pleasantries were exchanged. Daphne rolled herself to Blaise’s right side. They held hands. Blaise’s knuckles turned white in the hold. It reminded her much of the way Draco held onto her. 

She smiled over her teacup. A love haze clouded her eyes as she watched him sip properly, straight backed and proper as ever.

“Loved the exposé in _The Prophet_. I finally understand how you’ve been able to overcome,” Blaise spoke to Draco.

Draco’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

The grip on his seat tensed as he awaited response. 

“The papers do manage to make it to Italy. No use pretending - .”

“BB, stop avoiding.” Daphne’s small voice was so fragile to the ears of the others.

Except Theo. He allowed himself consumed in seething rage. His flesh was boiled red, a clear expression of the monster within himself. The bottle of ale was an outline in his pocket. More than once, he reached down to tap against the glass, almost in comfort. The bottle that took away the pain. But not yet. Not just yet.

Hermione watched the room closely. She read the Slytherins for their tensions.

“Out with it now,” Pansy declared after many tense minutes in complete silence. “What’s going on? Why are you guys in hiding here and married, without telling us? I mean, Daph. It’s me. You couldn’t tell me?”

“Things were changed in the war, Pans. Even I.”

There was the obvious tremor in the witch’s arms as they laid against the cool metal of her wheelchair. They were unmistakable. The greying flesh of her arms was lifeless against their far too sunken body. The distinct purple around the eye – that was yet another item checked off Hermione’s list. She glanced to Draco to see if he’d noticed. 

Daphne squeezed her fists as if she wanted to regain the strength to stop it.

She couldn’t. It’d never stop.

A great sadness washed over Hermione. It was a sharp, overwhelming, sudden emotion. Tears surged upward. 

Whether she went rigid in her seat or subtly held her breath, she didn’t know. Whatever it was, Pansy read it like a novel and clutched her hand together with Hermione’s. She shifted her weight toward her friend, happy to have someone know her secret and be supportive in times that it weighed upon her more heavily than others. 

She already sensed her pregnancy affecting her thoughts. It wouldn’t be long before it would affect her body, too. Draco was sure to learn then. It was fast approaching, she knew. The time to process it was shortening with every moment that the information went unsaid between the couple, sure to reach a point where its silence was irreparable to their relationship.

That frightened her. That ached her. The thought of betrayal that Draco might feel burned her heart…But. 

But.

She just couldn’t fathom the reality. It was too much. She’d only just gotten engaged, a notable step with Draco Malfoy. It hurt her to imagine what might be said about their child. Conceived before marriage. Sure, the wizarding world would surround her with praise, a pure example of what every war survivor should do. But…

But.

There was that small voice that knew others might say things. Whisper things… Hermione Granger, the mudblood slag. 

It wretched her with terrible indecision. Which made her even more guilty for feeling them.

Pansy’s hold in that moment was an anchor. An anchor to something that was real. Stable with all the information available. That was enough. 

“What about you has changed?” Pansy retorted.

“She’s become a gold-digging slag from what I can see.” Theo growled.

Blaise raised a pointed finger. “She was one of those with you, Nott. She was one of those every year at Hogwarts when you paraded her round like a prized pikey for you to shag and use and toss away when you wanted to. Now she’s got a bit of decency to her. An association with a reputable family.”

That statement was a bit dubious since Blaise’s mother was a known Black Widow with many dead husbands buried in her trunk and much more money than a single mother of a pureblood aristocrat could have ever dreamed of, such husbands losing their fortunes upon their death with a common beneficiary. It was unspoken of within decent society. There was plenty implied but nothing confirmed. 

“She loved me!” Theo roared in a rage.

An entire room turned tense, tenser than before. The mood forced everyone to the edge of their seats. A subtle change ready for anything, having left a war just behind. However, it was not just that.

It was entirely mortifying to have the two scream at one another over Daphne. Her cheeks turned hot with embarrassment. A hand hovered by her face, eyes flashed around the room, a noticeable swallow within her throat. 

The two spoke of her sexual past as if she was not in the room, not a person that deserves respect, no matter how sexually promiscuous their history. 

She was a witch. Not an object. Not a toy for the pair to fight over. A person. 

Hermione shot out of her seat and grabbed hold of both of their ears as the mother Weasley out of her shell of ignorance to punish her two mischievous sons. “You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Daphne is a witch, a woman, and she is _right here_. So help me, God, I’ll curse you both to eat endless slugs if you do not start behaving like a couple of adults.”

Their ears were released free in a different color than before. 

Blaise was another sheet of embarrassed when he saw Daphne’s face. His hands touched hers. The witch did not resist his look of consolation and apology, though Hermione thought she should have. Had Draco tried such a thing, he’d have gotten a few curses thrown at him. Perhaps a couple more for forgetting just who she was. 

Theo was more scared of another. He looked at Hermione’s disappointed face and hung his head a bit lower as he settled back to his seat. Quietly. 

“Right. That’s better.” She took a deep breath and brushed off the invisible dust. A moment she was reminded of time with Harry and Ronald. A bit of the old Hermione back in the flesh. “Now. Daphne, begging your pardon, please. Continue.”

Pansy stuck her tongue out at Theo while her hand rejoined Hermione’s with a triumphant squeeze. 

“Thank you.” It was barely a whisper above the tension.

There were times in the war when Hermione encountered Death Eaters and Snatchers. The allies took them as informants for they lacked much knowledge of Voldemort’s side of things. He had used dark magic. Darker than the world knew, barely believed to exist. It was useful then. Harry and Ron and Hermione were given tips that came from the informants of where to avoid, how to infiltrate, just who was on the radar of persecution.

It was how she had been brought forth to a muggle torture house. Voldemort established it as a place to satisfy his hungrier of followers with rape and torture, violence, and use of unspeakable curses. 

Many met their deaths in the house. Many were women. Their exposed bodies thrown about like nothing but discarded rubbish. Their eyes all frozen, glassy, filled with blood. One woman was indescribable in condition that hope for her recovery was far too little that Hermione was given the task of easing the transition, lest the woman suffer longer for an undetermined length of time. The curses were so rare. Some were created just for the purpose of the war, to torture muggles and muggleborns.

There was no information she could draw from that might help. The potions failed. Spells of every diagnostic angle were inconclusive. Magic failed her that night. 

After it was done and the woman buried with a shred of respect, Hermione cleaned herself up in a loo after vomiting her will to live in the grass. The grimy mirror splattered and streaked. It showed back an unpleasant image. A witch, sunken into her bones and weary beyond words. She was battered, broken. Eyes puffed red with tears over yet another sacrifice she’d made for the good of the world. 

In that moment she felt Daphne reflected that past image of herself in truest form. The witch was frozen with inability whether it was mental or physical, clearly something traumatic had taken hold of her soul. Unreleased from the torment, Daphne carried on. She lived in her shell. The hollow space where a person used to reside. Not dark, blackness. Anger and disgust. 

“Now what’s this about change?” Pansy snapped. “I’m tired of this secrecy nonsense. What has happened? Did you and Blaise run in to some kind of trouble?”

“Trouble?” Blaise snarled. “Trouble? Is that what you all say about me? ‘ran into trouble’ like I’m a bleeding miscreant.”

Pansy twisted her hair round a finger. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well I think it is what you meant.”

“But it isn’t. Was it, Ern?”

No one looked to Ernie. They all kept wrapped in the confusion that was laid at their feet. A situation that was denied explanation that warranted much.

Theo and Daphne? Now Blaise and Daphne? With secrets? 

“Yes, please. Ask Ernie bleeding Hufflepuff if you were being genuine in your snooping,” Blaise sneered.

“You’re stalling, Blaise.” Draco said it so casually, in that collected, yet unenthused tone that encouraged eye rolls throughout the room. “I’ve not got all day for this circular conversation. You see, I’m on holiday. I’d like some time to actually enjoy Italy. Now either show us to our suites or start explaining. I can’t stand this conversation any longer. We’ll all be gray before you finish telling us what you meant to tell us.”

Hermione sipped from her teacup in quiet curiosity. It was rude to be so nosey, but the suspense was impossible. There was something amongst the Slytherins that she sensed they all knew, but not entirely. 

Try as she could, Draco’s mind would not allow her to peek inside at what it held.

She sniffed in contempt when he politely forced her out of his thoughts and into hers.

“Fine. Have it your way, spoil sport,” she thought with her harshest resolve.

“You’re right, Draco. This conversation is best put on hold. All this is exhausting. Daphne tires so easily,” Blaise said suddenly. He released his hold on her hand. Her weak face looked to him for explanation, but he continued his pace toward the back of her wheelchair, grasping the black grips gently in his dark hands. “She needs rest.”

There was that fragile look of resistance in the poor woman’s eyes. “But BB.”

“Some other time. They’ll be here for a few days. We’ll do it then. Once you’re strong enough.” His hand patted her shoulder gently.

Those sky-blue eyes pleaded toward Pansy in their sad way. Hermione was even drawn to their call, their plead. 

“You’ll not leave me without saying goodbye?”

A clench of her hand burned Hermione’s flesh in it’s clutch. “Wouldn’t dream of it, love.”

“I still want to talk to you, Daph,” Theo erupted out of his silence.

Pansy’s neck snapped at attention. “Well get in line.”

“You’ll not say a word to her.” Blaise’s hold tensed on Daphne’s chair as if Theo might pull it away in an act to literally steal his wife.

Theo pointed a finger. “I don’t give a damn what you say, Blaise. She owes me an explanation. You’ll do that won’t you Daph?” His voice lowered to a somber, perhaps sultry tone. “After all this time, you’ll pay me that one favor. Won’t you? For me.”

There was a pause in breath. Everyone fully expected an eruption out of the grumpy Mister Zabini, who seemed ready for an excuse to curse Theo to nothing but soot, alas there was silence in a moment that warranted some indication of emotion, anything that revealed the answer of the request.

Daphne look a defeated mess in her seat. She slumped slightly; shoulders hunched. Hermione took stock of the witch with a sharp eye. In addition to the trembles, dull complexion, and obvious impairment, there was an aura about her presence that left the air sickened around her.

She sighed, the clear sign of her defeat. “Yes. I suppose I will.”

“But Daph.” Blaise whined.

“I’ll talk to him,” she said, firmer still. “Later, Theo. We’ll talk.”

The rest of the group was quiet as Daphne was wheeled out of the room. Her wheels squeaked with each rotation. It burned Hermione’s heart to see the witch so broken in a state of total distress, wheeled through a beautiful house she was bound to without a single soul to comfort the loss of her home and friends apart from her husband. Whatever reprieve it was.

Once the sound was lost to the bowels of the house, a collected sigh was expressed. 

“Nice holiday you’ve got us on, Pansy. Why, I’ll take out an advert to shout the fun I’m having,” Draco stated as he rubbed his temples gently. So much for relaxed holiday Draco. He was turning back to uptight Draco in front of their eyes.

“Sod off,” Pansy spat. “How was I supposed to know that yet again Theo is the worst companion?”

“Goes without saying,” Draco sneered back. “Don’t you think?”

“Both of you, shut it!” Theo crossed his arms with a deep-set anger. “What’s Daphne doing here with Blaise? Zabini, of all people!”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t expect her to wait for you all her life, Theo? You only used her for fun anyway. Isn’t that what you always used to say?”

“Theo.” It was the first time Susan said anything since entering. “You never told me about Daphne.”

Pansy’s spine straightened. “Allow me to explain it for you then.”

“Don’t!” Theo jumped up. His arms brushed the edge of the fancy floating chandelier above their heads.

“Why not?” The Slytherin witch shrieked back. “Ashamed of yourself after all these years, finally?”

“Hey, I never did anything to her that she didn’t want!”

Pansy snorted. “That’s rich. You never gave an option. It was a guilt game until she gave in no matter how depraved the request. She’s just lucky you were only too selfish. Salazar knows what you might’ve made her do!”

The two fought back and forth, despite the urging of the two Hufflepuffs urging to keep calm and quiet. All the while, Hermione glared at Draco to intervene with their nonsense. It’d gone too far.

Something, though, had his attention. A glaze shuttered his eyes. He was not going to be of any help.

A fold of a cloak was parted for a grab at a wand, when Hermione stood again. She bared her lioness claws at both of them.

“Do not do this again,” Hermione said through gritted teeth.

The styled eyebrows met in a sad downturn. “Hermione, you know what he did to my poor Ernie. The wizard’s a waste! Selfish, and a blowhard.”

“Hey! How come you’re taking her side?” Theo shrieked.

Each Hufflepuff was poised at their Slytherins side, comforting words whispered in their ears, the petting of their arms in attempt to defuse the situation at hand with their smooth words that comforted in the most upset souls.

Susan was burrowed into Theo’s side. She hugged his waist and squeezed herself tightly against him as she whispered, “Come, come, now Theo. There are no sides. We are all the world here.”

“I’m not taking anybody’s side!” Hermione retorted.

Pansy put her hands at his hips. It highlighted the seriously drawn in waist under the floating folds of her dress and cardigan. “How can you take his side after all he’s done? He’s ruined our dream holiday with all his shenanigans. He’s ruined my boyfriend’s flesh with those horrid little pictures. And, he was the one who came up with those ideas for the ‘Potter Stinks’ badge!”

“Draco did that!” Theo shouted back.

“Not unless he’s also the one who ruined your cousins wedding by changing the bridal party badges to atomically correct elf genitalia.”

Susan and Ernie gasped. “That was you?”

Hermione, too, was shocked. That wedding was discussed at length in Hogwarts since it happened during the school year and the bride and groom were prominent members of the Ministry.

“I heard she cried so hard she had to be sedated,” Hermione added in sadly. 

“She did,” Theo confirmed. “Pansy was the one who kept taking pictures of her crying, making her cry harder! And laughing.”

“Whaaaaat?” Ernie said. He looked back at his girlfriend with such disgust and surprise. The combination twisted his features to a nasty mix. It made Pansy cower under its gaze. “You ruined that magical day for them on purpose? Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

She became panicked. Her eyes darted to Theo as he smirked with glee, crossing his arms proudly against his chest. 

A glisten came to her eyes. “Please…”

“Because she wanted to be the first bride to wear a transforming dress,” Theo answered. “Libby was going to wear one first, so Pansy wanted to make sure it was stopped before the dress was ever showed off.”

“A dress?!” Ern cried. “You forced that couple to move to Australia over a dress?”

Pansy was so irate her fists shook with the power. A redness overtook her flesh. Fire engine red. Complete with steam out the ears.

“How. Dare. You. You promised to take it to your grave. Now I’ll very sure make sure that you are sent there!” She grabbed hold of her wand and let loose a shot of bright red fire.


	23. Tastes of Italy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the lapse in my updates. The holidays, having a new baby, buying a house have taken up much of my attention lately. But I haven't forgotten or abandoned this fic. Please be patient. Thanks for all the reviews and posts about it. That literally makes my day. I have some awesome followers! Thanks for being so understanding and supportive

### Tastes of Italy

Theo Nott was at the end of Pansy Parkinson’s wand. Red sparks sparked their way toward his chest in a broad target but was aptly diverted with a flick of Theo’s wand. They splattered throughout the air as fireworks. Their clicks a little applause.

The fight of Pansy and Theo continued.

“Theo kept stealing Longbottom’s toad,” Pansy gushed with a finger extended in accusation. “It was a game to see how much detention Longbottom would get with Snape when he sniveled about the creature.”

“At least I don’t think of dumping my boyfriend because he’s bad in bed.”

A horrifying awful shrieked left her parted lips. She clutched her chest as if the dagger he’d stabbed her with was of muggle blade. Her lips sloped to an awful frown. It brought out the bulldog-like quality that used to earn her remarks. 

Ernest’s face was worse. His eyes were twice their regular size.

“That’s why you avoided me that week? I thought it was all about getting into a relationship with a Hufflepuff, not shagging!”

She reached out for him with helpless arms. “Please, Ernie. Please. Listen to me.”

“I can’t believe you’d be that shallow!” Ernie looked distraught. He unraveled. He dug his finger through his hair, allowing their messy strands fall wherever. 

A few tears dribbled from Pansy’s kohl lined eyes. “That was only at first. You showed me how to love in spite of it.”

“In spite of?” He echoed in distress.

The expression brought Draco from his silent reverie. He was roused alive, absorbing the scene before him. Hermione felt his magic come alive throughout the room. 

“What’s this now?” Draco asked cautiously.

His eyes took stock of Susan’s position around Theo’s waist, Pansy’s ready-to-cast dueling stance, slouched with despair, with Ernest between them in total disbelief. Not a single face was unaffected by the situation in front of them. The tension was so thick, it was smoke. They all choked on its intoxicating hold of their throats. 

They fought in Paris, sure. But it was nothing like this. 

They argued with who was right and who was a horrible friend, to which one replied they were no longer friends, then another argument. School yard hexes came next. They went their separate ways in anger and sheer exhaustion of an all-night scandal. 

But the betrayal of all their secrets was another thing. It was as if the end of their friendship was near. 

And that only led to sides having to be chosen.

Hermione’s knees buckled and sent her back into her chair. The stress of one thing after another was enough to having her begging for death.

It was supposed to be a fun holiday!

One where she could be engaged and in love and lay on the beach near the ocean with a drink in one hand and Draco in another. It was a holiday that made the war seem unreal. The chance she had to experience a happy, unprejudiced friendship with witches and wizards her own age abroad, absorbing new emotions and memories other than with Ron and Harry, who were frankly sick of her always mothering them like the two toddlers they behaved like.

Harry and Ron were on their own adventure, one that didn’t need her. 

She didn’t resent them for joining the Ministry. Neither enjoyed schoolwork or learning or essays or reading. Of that, she understood well.

But, part of her felt they moved on just so easily without her. They joined the work force. Ronald didn’t contact her for help anymore. Harry was never in emotional need for her wisdom either. 

It was as if they walked along without care whether she was ready or not. 

She hadn’t. 

There was too much in the magical world that awaited her exit from Hogwarts. After the war, she wasn’t ready. It was too soon. Too soon after Fred, and Lupin, and Snape. Too soon after the death and destruction to move on like it hadn’t happened. It was too soon to be so happy in a world that was just flipped on its head. To go on pretending as if the world was unchanged after the war was too much, even if it was enough for Harry and Ron to endure, she couldn’t.

Part of that attachment was what led her to Draco Malfoy. He, too, was ready to start but knew it impossible to be totally unaffected by everything. They shared that horror, those nightmares, the struggle of who they once were with who they had to be now.

A drunk haze convinced her to pursue him but it was a lie to say it was the alcohol that made her do it. If she was truly honest with herself, it was because she felt that of all the survivors of the war, he’d be the one of which she could relate to the most. A bit of connection, as shocked and guilt-ridden as she felt about it. 

The stress was different in her life now. A friend’s argument was not the end of the world. They were all alive, safe, as happy as they could be, supported and loved. That was all she wished for as a young woman of two years ago. She had it. It was there.

Draco stood between the pair of fighting Slytherins as a bit of safeguard between the fiery Pansy and the just as equally angry, Theo. 

Their shouts were all a hum as she watched on in awe. How ungrateful they’d all seem to the ones who fell during the war. How shallow and insignificant it all sounded. 

“I might as well say it now, since the gloves have come off.” Pansy untucked her arms from her self-embrace. Eyes watery from the devastation they were causing. “Theo is the reason Draco was a death eater.”

Draco’s brows shot straight to his hairline. “I beg your pardon.”

His eyes narrowed as he beheld his male friend so fiercely. Jaw clenched tight. “Nott?”

It was all a matter of two seconds before he grabbed ahold of Theo’s shoulders and held him up high against the wall. A look of surprise and acceptance twisted Theo’s face.

“Nott,” Draco growled through clenched teeth. “Is that true? Did you weasel out of things? Is that why?”

The lack of answer was answer enough in Draco’s eyes.

Hermione shot to her feet. “Draco! Put him down.”

“No, I don’t think I will. Not until he answers me. Getting a bit tight up there, Nott?”

Theo’s head bobbed. “A smidge.”

“Then answer quickly before you pass out,” Draco said.

Pansy rushed to Draco’s side and pulled at one arm with all her might. It didn’t bend nor affect his hold on Theo. The opportunity to use her talon-like fingernails as a weapon was lost.

Then she applied her sharp tongue to the situation. “Have you gone mad? Put him down before you hurt him!”

“Not. Until. He. Answers.” Storm clouds gathered in those icy grey eyes. Ever so slight his hands shifted to Theo’s neck. The look, the total determination on his face frightened Hermione to her core. She sent surges of her magic around him like a cloud to soothe the anger that resided there in those storm clouds of his. His negative energy, his magic, the very anger that held Theo against the wall. She hadn’t seen him like that in so long. “Theo, when your father came to you, did you push him to me?”

Pansy pleaded with Draco to release him. She was so terrified. Her hands clutched her face. Tears streamed down her face. “I’m so sorry, Theo. I didn’t mean to tell him. Draco. Let him down for Salazar’s sake, he’s going purple.”

She was in hysterics. 

The frantic nature of Draco’s magic was unlike anything Hermione ever felt in him. It was pure rage. His walls of control were close to collapse. She darted across the room to him, latched her arms around his neck and cuddled herself close. 

His chest heaved with each breath. Smoke poured from his nose as his fiery dragon clawed up through him.

“Please, Draco. Please, please. Don’t do this.” She whispered into his ear with hope it would be enough. “Remember yourself. Remember all you’ve been through. Please. Don’t let this be who you are. You are more.”

Theo started to grab hold of the hands that held him. The hysterics of Pansy heightened, but she no longer sat idly by as it happened. She fought against Draco’s hands with nails as knifes to cut and slice his flesh open. 

It took a while for the antics to work, but he finally dropped Theo to the ground and staggered away, Hermione latched onto his back in a hug.

She applauded his decision. “Good job, Draco. Thank you. I know that was difficult. Let’s just go upstairs and rest for a bit, hm? Come cuddle me and forget it. You’re so strong.”

How could his expression be explained to relay the devastation and emptiness he felt? He was lost. His face a hollow shell of the Draco of the morning, so in love, now angry and used up. Hermione kept kissing his cheek through her silent tears to revive her Draco back. 

Theo coughed like a chain smoker. His breaths were ragged and hoarse. Everyone heard him struggle to regain air in his lungs, especially through the tight hug that Pansy had around him. 

It was a silent, anxious moment. No one dared disrupt the peace in fear of what might break down between them all. Even Susan, who sobbed, kept her face buried in the folds of Ernie’s robes as she shook in fear.

A croak came up from the floor of a limp body. “I was scared. He told me what I would have to do as a death eater, and I couldn’t do it. It all suddenly made sense. I couldn’t be one of them. I wasn’t like them.”

Draco remained frozen as a statue. “So you condemned me to damnation to save yourself.”

“You always wanted to be one,” he answered. “I thought it was best for both of us.”

It was a long time before another sound was made. Pansy, Ernie, Susan and Hermione knew it had to be either Theo or Draco to make the first one. Whether they were still able to be friends or whether the group would disband forever as indifferent acquaintances. 

The tension made Hermione sweat with anxiety. She wished they would all come together, to solve their differences, come to grips with the past. 

Draco was over it, she thought. He bore his ex-Death Eater status not with pride, but acceptance over his mistake. He did not hide it. It happened. If anyone were the first to declare their regrets, it was him to announce that joining the ranks of Voldemort, no matter how coerced it was, was the worst decision he made.

He would have been a different wizard had he not joined the death eaters. Hermione and he wouldn’t have bonded together, that was for sure, but it was difficult to be upset over his regret because the death eaters changed his life in a way he viewed as torture. He was never to be free of them. The things they did during the war, watching his lunatic aunt cut her way through a classmate as an inhuman monster. His father was reduced to a whimpering old fool. 

Voldemort and the Death Eaters ruined Draco’s entire life. And that was Theo’s fault.

That was significant. 

“Come, Mione. Let’s get settled in our room,” Draco said quietly. 

She slid off his back and rejoined her hand in his.

The butler of the Zabini home showed them to their room up on the second floor. It had an adjoining loo with a magnificent stone shower with a large, flat plate for a shower head. There were candles all over the room. Dark silk sheets with a fluffy down bedspread. There was a window that overlooked the street. It bustled with people about their lovely summer day, not a clue to the chaos that reigned behind the closed doors of the townhouse. 

A tray of tea and other treats were placed on a coffee table near a pair of overstuffed couches. Two plaid throws rested against their backs. Hermione dropped into one, completely ready to disappear into their fluffy embrace until Draco started to unbutton his shirt. 

Her brow twitched, but she asked no question. That was until he approached her, entirely nude and started to pull at the edges of her blouse. 

“Draco. What are you doing?”

“Let’s shower,” he said.

“I took a bath this morning, remember?”

“Please.” He tapped his fingers down the length of her collarbones and back up toward her throat. His hands rested at the base of her neck. A single thumb stroked the flesh there below his grip, a throbbing life pulse all too easily extinguished with the tiniest bit of pressure.

Staring into his eyes, deep silver pools, she nodded. 

It was impossible to deny him anything with those looks. More so, his bare body aided his cause by being so beautiful that it hurt not to touch it. She ran a fingertip down the length of one of his little white scars near his hip. He sighed a heavenly sound.

She stood, body flush with his, and breathed in the sigh with hunger for that goodness to be in her. That warm tingly air to slide down her throat, fill her lungs with all essence of him, rise again like a bubble and tease her lips as she exhaled. 

As she leaned in for a kiss, he gripped just below her bum and pulled her up to his level, planted a kiss upon her lips and explored the sweet folds of her mouth with his probing tongue. He flexed his fingers into the flesh of her thighs. Their hot pain and pleasure urged Hermione forward, grinding more into his embrace.

His legs moved them to the loo. He mumbled a spell between their breaths. Water shot out of all the nozzles. Steam wafted in misty clouds as water trickled and poured all around the shower. 

Hermione swung a leg down, ready to undress herself, but Draco’s hands kept her locked in position and pulled her into the wet warmth. His kisses wouldn’t let her sound a protest. They kept her tongue locked in a dance with his as hot water soaked through her clothes, socks, and knickers. The weight of the water as it drained through the fabric added a sensation across her flesh as Draco’s lips moved down her neck, sucking at her pulse with his tantalizing lips. 

Her nipples stuck through her blouse; a fact that enticed him harder. His hand tangled in her hair the next moment, not a breath later, and tugged at her curls. It strengthened as he kissed his way down her chest, toying with her taut nipples.

She struggled in his hold as he’d faintly brush his teeth against her sensitive buds. It was delightful the mix of sensations: the heat of the water, the in and out of his breath, and the cold firm of his teeth as they clipped her pink flesh. Her legs tightened. The apex of her thighs just grazed against the seam of her pants. 

The rumblings of a shudder started and stopped as she tried to grind herself against him. Gushes of her excitement wet her knickers through, though they were already drenched from the steady fall of water.

She was lost in the moment, eyes closed, pushed against a hard, cool wall as pleasure rippled in every nerve, when she noticed the desperation in his eyes as he dug through the zipper of her pants to reach that ooey space hot with need. His burned brighter than hers. Draco needed release. The lower than low point he was at was the base for his ascent to mounds of pleasure and love that came with their bond.

With his fingers working against the perfect erect clit, growing tauter and more sensitive by the minute, curling her toes, sending juice down his fingers, Hermione worked up the courage to take charge. Just after she felt his fingers thrust in her a few more times…and a few more.

“Draco,” she said softly.

She pulled at her nipples. Her eyes rolled. She’d curled her toes for so long her feet started to cramp.

“More?”

His mouth was at her ear, breathing heavily as again and again his fingers shot up inside her. A long cold shudder fell down her spine. She gasped out.

Once she found her breath, she tried again. “I want something…else.”

His attention perked. Fingers withdrew from her as he remained poised still. 

“Why don’t you set me down and I’ll show you what I have in mind?”

The moment her feet hit the ground, she pushed him against the wall. One hand kept him against the wall while the other gripped his cock in her palm, his entire manhood under her grasp. The thing that made him her hot, white dragon a roaring rutting beast. 

A gleam in his eye brought forth that animal once more. The deep hollow roar of his cock that demanded his share.

Her hands moved up his cock in painfully slow motions. He’d thrust himself deeper into her grasp, but she’d slack her grip so that the only release came at her time, her schedule. Draco burned with fury and aching primal need.

“Do something,” he demanded. Oh, yes. She saw it now. The dragon was alive within his frame. It resided inside Draco’s flesh held at bay by the limit of his pale skin. “Stroke me. Suck me. Something.”

The beast growled.

Hermione kept her gaze level with his, a power over him, as she worked up the length of his cock, back down its slick skin, and up toward its head. She rubbed his head with her thumb, smearing the little pre-cum already leaked. 

His bottom jaw shuddered. A hollow low moan of anguish as tension built within his body.

She enjoyed the power she had. His cock begged for her touch and tempo as she stroked him firmer and harder. Water squished from her hand as she pumped. Draco stayed against the wall as her hand forced him to, but a sudden twitch down his spine sent him forward, overtop of her. He breathed ragged.

Raking claws of the dragon ripped her blouse to shreds. They tore through her clothes, yanked her pants to her knees, and turned her around.

Now, her cheek rested against the stone wall. Cold touch on her face, hot hands at her body. She held her breath as he positioned himself at her opening. It was wet. He was ready, too. The smell of her sex sent him in a rage over her. 

A hot cock shot up; her hips in spasm. She reached up and gripped the wall with all her might. Her entire body wanted to collapse in pleasure. Floods of tingles surged on her center as he withdrew himself. An aching loss. She yearned for it back. A quiver of a whisper left her lips when she held air replace his place inside.

He ate up her need with the same power she’d exercised over him. There was that puff in his chest as he watched her bum wiggle in anticipation, whimper in rutting lust for his cock to part her once more. He let it go on for a while longer as her need climbed to heights unheard of. Finally, Draco gripped her hips, pushed himself through the warm folds and depths over and over, allowing her bum to slap against his lap as he bucked into her wildly. A fire built between her sex.

Her moans turned to screams. His length tore through the comfy, loving depths of her sex into the hard, raw flesh that left her thighs shuddering more than once as he continued his ragged shag. 

His fingers scratched up the back of her thighs. “You’re so tight, Hermione. I’ll never tire of it.”

She gasped from her recent orgasm, more aroused than she’d been before. It hurt to continue with his cock against her clit, but she wanted it. She wanted all that inside her. 

“Harder. I want it harder.”

Draco’s grip on her hips tightened. “As you wish.”

His cock punctured through her body with a sensation she’d never felt. The sharp, burning, eye-rolling sensation made her weak. She dropped her hands to the floor in front of her, unable to support herself. Chills dropped down her back. Her thighs shook constantly as he shagged her against the wall. 

There was a point where she felt lost in his eyes. He fucked through her. He lost sight of the world in which she was in and sought the only pleasure he knew how to find.

He shook against her back with his shooting climax and fell to the floor in exhaustion. 

How long had they been there? Time had lost importance. Ten minutes, ten hours. None of it mattered.

Draco laid beneath the pouring warm water. Each breath the rise and fall of another minute. Hermione’s knees knocked together as she regained her composure.

He was in a lot of pain. Not physical, but mental. The pain filled him up his emotions with more power than the other ones combined. So much pain. Too much for Hermione to stand it. She adorned herself a robe, grabbed a potion from her trusty satchel, ceased the water flow of the shower, and slipped the potion between his lips.

“Shhh.” She ran her fingers through his hair as the potion took effect. “Sleep, love.”

Once Draco was tucked beneath the sheets, Hermione dressed for an outing and exited their room. It was at the same time Pansy closed a door down the hall.

“How is he?” She asked. 

Hermione sighed and shook her head. It was difficult to rally a response to the state of her fiancé. He was broken. 

“Down a whole bottle of firewhiskey, did he?”

“No. He showered for a while, to think. He’s too wired to do much of anything except torture himself. I gave him a potion. He needs time to rest. Gather himself.”

Pansy nodded and reached out a helpful hug. “You haven’t told him I gather.”

“Right. Because I’d love to see his head literally catapult off his neck to the next country in disbelief. Lovely story for the kids, eh?” Hermione said sarcastically. It was short, which she instantly regretted. She fell farther into Pansy’s embrace. “I’ve never seen him so upset. I thought he was going to murder Theo for real. My entire life flashed before my eyes.”

“The prat had a fit,” Pansy said soothingly. “Can you blame him? Joining Voldemort was the worst mistake of his life. It almost cost him his life. His mother’s life. All he holds dear.”

That was not news. It was true. Draco’s entire life was threatened by Voldemort and his loyal dogs.

It just felt a relief to release it was not a lapse in his shield. There was not a hidden rage below him that he wanted to avenge. If it were, she wasn’t sure how she’d fare in his life. 

Hermione nodded. “Seems a bit obvious, doesn’t it? ‘Course he’s upset. It’s brought back horrid memories.”

“Thought he was back to his old Slytherin ways, didn’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Hermione gently withdrew from their embrace.

The Slytherin witch narrowed her eyes as a serpent’s stare. “The Gryffindor Princess was worried the Slytherin Prince was back. Did that shatter a few feelings? Perhaps, scare up a reality with him as the father of her child?”

Taken aback, Hermione stepped away, insulted to say the least.

“Pansy Parkinson, you despicable bitch. How dare you say that to me?”

A roll of those eyes took her anger back down a ways.

“You know I had to ask about it,” Pansy said with a tap on the shoulder. “Draco is my friend, too. There are some things I owe to him.”

Hermione groaned. “Couldn’t find an appropriate time to accuse me, could you, so kick me whilst I’m down.”

“Oh. Now, now. Don’t disparage. It gives wrinkles.” The witch snorted. “Want to do something? Let’s get out of this house prison. Things are so queer here. Blaise and Daphne is too much to handle, not to mention Theo and Draco’s nonsense. We need to get out.”

Leaving Draco was the last thing she wanted to do. She chewed on her lower lip unable to think of a response that wouldn’t awakened another fight between friends. 

“That potion won’t wake him for hours, if not all night. He won’t need you,” Pansy said softly. “Come with me. We can explore Italy. Take our minds off things for a bit. Let’s enjoy our holiday as we should have without all these wizards to muck it up.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “A shag holiday might have been more pleasant than this.”

Pansy agreed. “Next time, we’ll take the models and leave the boyfriends at home.”

“Next time.”

The girls gathered their things and left, but not without kissing their significant others goodbye. Ernie was a bit more reluctant since things between Pansy and him were torn, but he still wished them well and waved as they walked down the street.

It was a beautiful tour through Milan. Shops overflowed with bustling people. Their accents were delectable as they spoke English to the pair.

They sampled cafes with coffees of every flavor. Little candies in silver wrappers, too, at the request of the owner. It was entirely flattering to have so many things shoved into their hands which Hermione politely accepted with many thanks, and Pansy took with grace, used to such treatment. 

Hermione and Pansy toured through boutiques next, at one witch’s request, and then found their way to the Biblioteca Ambrosiana at the request of the other. The art museum was refreshing to the palate after trying on every maternity blouse at the insistence of an excited ‘aunty’. 

Items were purchased for the baby. Wee baby Malfoy.

“Merlin. I can’t believe it. ‘Nipper Malfoy’. That’s what I’ll be hearing, so soon.” Hermione sipped from the throw away cup in her hand. It was full of warm tea. It soothed the swirl of her young pregnant belly. A babe. In her belly. Her hand rested against the empty stomach that was not so empty now that she thought of it. “Can you imagine? Pushing a pram down these streets with a nipper with bright blonde hair.”

Pansy wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Oh no, dear. He’ll look bald.”

“What? No. He won’t.”

“Yes, huh. Those little blonde babes are bald things running around. I swear, you better hope for your hair.”

Hermione laughed. “Right. As if Malfoy genes are so easy to overtake. I’ll have a twin duplicate of Draco. And he won’t be bald!”

“Bald nippers, all your future.”

The girls chuckled as they walked, happy as two birds on a steady twig. 

They carried on their afternoon with great joy. The two hadn’t laughed so much in so long. Their worries of the Zabini house were far behind them as they explored Milan as it was meant to be enjoyed. The rest of the ninnies in the house just didn’t know what they missed out on. 

A bag of Pizzelle’s was used to satisfy the complaints to be given upon their return. 

The entire afternoon was spent in their outing. The two girls returned with their bags of purchases. As Pansy hid her bags from Ernie, Hermione popped into her suite to check on Draco. He was fast asleep. She checked his pulse and it was steady, normal, and healthy. She stole a Pizzelle just for him, placed on the bedside so that when he woke, he’d find a warmed cookie waiting to ease his woes. 

His pale cheek laid against the pillow; an arm tucked below his head as he slept. Hermione couldn’t stop herself. She kissed him once, then twice.

There was something so stunning to his form. She froze.

“God, you’re so perfect,” she breathed. “Even in your darkest…I’ll never stop loving you.”

She brushed the bangs away from his face. “You’re going to make a wonderful father. So proud, and so reliable. So loving and so, so, well so beautiful.”

He gently exhaled. The beloved sigh of his breath. She kissed his cheek once more for good measure.

Their friends gathered in the parlor in quiet congress until she entered the room. They righted themselves rigid and silenced. She grew suspicious. Her eyes instantly narrowed as she seated herself round the table and made her tea in their silence as they made themselves more and more awkward. 

She laid out the biscuits from the pastry shop for their interest. They were greedy with the treats (it was good she saved one for Draco) but their quiet nature still plagued their behavior. 

“You ought to be more careful…” She sipped from her teacup. “People will think you’re up to something.”

Susan side-glanced Theo. It was a curious expression. 

Ernie was a bit better in his pretend indifference. “I take exception to that. We’re not up to a thing. A bit of discussion between friends is not so suspect.”

“It is when you fall hush like that.”

She couldn’t help but notice the direct gaze of Pansy’s up at the ceiling as she raked her fingers through her smooth ebony locks. Hermione honed in on the behavior abnormalities of her dear devoted friends.

“Oh Pansy.” She sang like a little bird. Her voice fluttered over to Pansy’s shoulder and sat there, to the complete ignorance of the witch. “What are you plotting over there? Out with it. I can smell it from here.”

The witch stiffened and tried to not so gracefully sniff herself. When she found her scent all satisfactory, she waved in dismissal. “Don’t you start. I’m fresh as a rose.”

It was time to try with the less secretive of the group. She turned her attentions to the former yellow members of their school. Legs crossed, hands joined, a soft innocent smile.

“Susan, Ernie. Please see reason.”

“Oi. Don’t start on them, Mione. It’s my plotting they’re hiding,” Theo said suddenly. His voice was raspy, but seemingly normal. Close enough to it. “I’ve just made us plans in Turkey that I don’t think you’ll approve of. The Hufflepuffs have finally gotten onboard so don’t go changing their minds. A bit of adventure is what they need. Adventure and fun.”

Hermione nodded. “That is the point of this holiday, is it not?”

Theo’s eyes lightened in cheer. His tongue stuck in Pansy’s direction with a giddy smile. “Exactly what I said.”

“That is _not_ the point of this holiday. You were an add-on. You weren’t apart of the purpose of this. Hermione and I were going to shag our way through the continent actually, before you lot were thought of. So don’t go telling me, Theodore Nott, just we ought do.”

“But you like my idea, Pans.”

The witch’s crossed legs bounced around as she inspected her manicure. “I never said I didn’t.”

“You’re a backward witch,” Theo said as he shook his head.

“She’s got a point,” Ernie retorted. He seemed rather relaxed. Time apart from his witch served him well, it seemed. There was hardly contention between the pair, though they sat across from one another, they regarded each with a bit of softness as if they were still soft toward the other. 

It settled Hermione’s tension to find things in working order between her friends. One thing returned to normal at the very least.

She stirred herself another cup of tea. It was a beautiful mix of chai and chamomile flavors. Lady gray was her favorite tea. It reminded her of when she was a young nipper, with her parents. Chai was a close second. It was so different, unlike typical tea, that it heightened her taste buds in a delighted twist of usual Earl and Lady gray that was served at Hogwarts. 

“You have to say that, don’t you? She’s your hen.”

“Fancy a cuppa, Sus?” Hermione questioned. When the witch nodded, she handed over a filled cup of milky tea to her friend. “I think we all know that our holiday has been trying. A bit of mix up might be nice. Alright, Pansy?”

Pansy nodded.

“Alright, Theo?”

He, too, nodded. “You’ll give it a try, then? A true Hufflepuff try? Not one of them Gryffindor tries. We all know that is half-arsed, at best.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to use my whole bum.” She smirked. “Just for you.”


End file.
